One of These Days
by Athena9
Summary: Chapter 25!! Basically, Frodo moving to Bag End after the death of his parents; how he copes; how he meets Samwise and how they become friends. This is a much-played theme, I know, but please R/R! I'll love you forever! :)
1. Arriving

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Author Notes : I know Frodo was supposed to be in his _tweens_ and not his _teens_ when he came to Bag End, and that he didn't move there immediately after his parents died, and I apologize for screwing around with the timing like that. None of these characters belong to me, and the Professor is probably rolling in his grave with what I've done to them, bless his Catholic heart. Anyway, I know this, too, has been done before, but please read and review ! I really, really appreciate reviews ! I'll review all your work if you take the 2 minutes to type out something nice about mine… cough So, onward and upward.

It was midsummer, and the sun shone brightly down on the Shire. There were a few scattered clouds, teasing the farmers with empty promises of rain, and a faint, warm breeze whispered across a meadow. The weather was beautiful, the scents of summer strong in the air, and elsewhere in the Shire, young hobbit lads and lasses were stripping down to their underclothes and splashing about in ponds. (The Brandybuck clan was even swimming in the river, much to the disapproval of those outside the family. ) The farmers tended the fields, their wives tended their smials, and, in general, there was a peaceful, contented air about the land.

In the meadow, however, there was neither peace nor contentment. The meadow itself, with its long, soft grasses, wildflowers, and the trees that ringed it, was the very picture of serenity. Its occupant was not. Frodo Baggins, aged 16, sole occupant of this lovely meadow, was lying face down in the middle of it, almost hidden by the tall grasses. He had come here to be alone, and he had gotten his wish, for the meadow, however lovely, was a rather lonely place. He wanted to be alone _so I can think_, as he put it to himself. What he _really_ wanted was to get away from all the sympathetic comments, questions, and glances he had been receiving for the past month.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A little more than four weeks ago, Drogo and Primula Baggins (née Brandybuck) had drowned in a tragic boating accident on the Brandywine. The talk had yet to die down. Their teenaged son, Frodo, had been sent to live with his uncle Bilbo (well, really his cousin, but that doesn't matter) in Hobbiton. « And it's a good thing, too, » said some of the old Gammers, discussing the matter at the town well. « Rescuing him from that Brandybuck rabble. Maybe he'll settle down, now, and not come to such a terrible end as his parents ! » They all nodded sagely, and cast the young Brandybuck (for they would not think of him as a Baggins) pitying glances whenever he passed by.

Frodo had been in a state of shock, the first week. He clearly remembered the evening it happened. He had been playing in one of the back rooms of Brandy Hall with several of his cousins, leaping about on the furniture and throwing cushions at one another. There had been a knock on the door. « Come in ! » Frodo shouted. « It's not locked ! » An elderly hobbit stepped in. « Uncle Fastolph ! » Frodo had cried joyfully. « Oh, do join us, uncle ! We're having ever so much fun ! » Frodo's faced was flushed with exertion and he grinned at his uncle, who, under normal circumstances, would have grinned back, grabbed a cushion, and reveled in the chaos along with them, never mind his age.

Uncle Fastolph did not join them, and he did not return Frodo's smile. In fact, he looked very worried, and very grave. « Frodo-lad, » he said quietly, and his voice was so serious that the grin faded from Frodo's face, and he jumped down off the bed and came over. « Frodo-lad, » Fastolph said again, looking even graver than before. Frodo's blue eyes filled with apprehension, all traces of merriment banished under that somber gaze. « What ? » he said warily. « What is it, uncle ? »

« Now, I know you're going to take this like a man, nephew, » said Fastolph, laying his hands on Frodo's shoulders. Something twisted inside Frodo, and he felt sick. 

__

Take it like a man, Frodo, a man. He swallowed hard, met his uncle's eyes, and nodded. All the other children in the room had fallen silent, knowing, with the instinctive knowledge of children, that something was very, very wrong. They watched anxiously from the corners of the room. 

« Frodo-lad, there's been an accident. Your parents… » Fastolph trailed off.

« What sort of accident ? » whispered Frodo, turning pale.

« On the river. They went boating after supper, the current must've been too strong – I'm sorry, Frodo. »

« Are they… ? » Frodo choked. Fastolph nodded, tears in his eyes. Frodo swayed suddenly, and his uncle caught him as he fell. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day had been all confusion, as the women wept and the men looked grim and the children stayed silent and out of the way. Everyone was trying to comfort him, console him, and express their own grief for his loss, while, at the same time, trying to figure out what it was they were going to do with him. Being half-Brandybuck, he could have simply stayed on at the Hall with some of his innumerable relations. But the general feeling was that he needed to get away after such a terrible shock. Where to, though ? Some suggested Tuckborough, others said Hobbiton, still others claimed that distant relatives in the West Farthing would take him in.

Alone amidst all the noise and confusion sat Frodo. He was pale, drawn, and silent. He would have wept, but he was too shocked for tears. To lose one parent is a terrible thing, but to lose _both_ ? And in the same night, and to the same fate ! Frodo was numbed by the pain of it, and the suddenness. Which was worse, he wasn't sure. He had the peculiar feeling of being behind a glass wall. He could see all the others, and hear them, but he couldn't touch them, nor they him. He was alone. _Alone. All alone,_ he thought. His uncle Fastolph had gone off early that morning, so Frodo was left even without him. He sat quietly on a chair in the Great Room, staring blindly into the space in front of him. _Gone ? How can they be gone ?_ he thought dazedly. And then, _What will become of me ?_

Fastolph came back that afternoon, bringing with him a relative Frodo had only met a few times before. « Frodo-lad, » said Fastolph gently, waking him from his trance. « This is your cousin Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. » Frodo lifted his blue eyes to his cousin's dark ones. _So this is 'Mad Baggins' ? Doesn't look very mad to me. _

« Hello, » he said dully.

« Hello, cousin » said Bilbo. He smiled down at Frodo sadly. « I'm sorry to hear about your loss. » He did indeed sound genuinely sorry for what had happened, and Frodo found a small measure of comfort in those dark eyes. He nodded.

« So is everyone else » he said.

« And you, my lad ? » asked Bilbo softly. « What do _you_ feel ? » 

Frodo looked into Bilbo's eyes for a long moment. « Lost » he whispered forlornly. Tears had come to Bilbo's eyes, then, and he had embraced Frodo tightly.

« Not to worry, lad. We'll find you again. »

« What will become of me ? » Frodo asked with sudden anxiety.

«We've decided that, » said Fastolph. « You're going to live with your cousin Bilbo. »

~*~*~*~*~*~*

And so he left with Bilbo the next day, after the funeral. The summer weather was soft and beautiful as they rode in a carriage to Bag End. _It's obscene,_ Frodo thought harshly. _My parents are dead, and the weather is beautiful. I hate it._ Heads turned as they rode past, and expressions grew somber. _I can just imagine what they're thinking. Morbid old crows._ He did not meet their eyes.

At last, they reached Bag End. Bilbo walked him down a hallway and showed him his room. « There you are, my boy. You'll probably be needing some sleep, so I'll leave you to it… » he said, and closed the door softly behind him. Frodo slowly got undressed and clambered up into the bed. He had been exhausted by all the events of the past two days. Before he knew it, he was asleep a deep, dull, dreamless sleep, borne of grief and pain. He slept late into the next day, when Bilbo awakened him to breakfast.

« Come on, lad. You need to eat something keep your strength up » he had said with forced (Frodo thought) cheerfulness. « I'll show you around the place later, and Hobbiton, too, if there's time. »

So he had eaten, though he was not hungry, and been 'shown around' Bag End. It was a nice place, Frodo realized, a little surprised that he could think anything was nice at a time like this. _Very nice gardens,_ he thought. _Pretty. Well-kept._ He had met Bilbo's gardener, Hamfast Gamgee, working in the vegetable plots pulling up weeds. He had paused in his work to be introduced to Frodo, who put his small, pale hand in the gardener's larger, work-roughened one. « I'm sorry, son » he had said quietly, and at the word 'son', tears rose up in Frodo's eyes, and the lump in his throat threatened to choke him. He nodded, and walked on quickly_. Take it like a man, Frodo, a man,_ he told himself. 

Bilbo had then taken him around the village and the surrounding area. « You can explore this for yourself, these next few weeks » Bilbo had said, and it sounded like a command more than a suggestion. Frodo nodded again. Nodding was safe, non-commital. He didn't have to trust his voice when he nodded. He managed to keep his tears under control for the rest of the day. But his sleep betrayed him. He dreamed of his parents of kissing his mother and tussling with his father, of picnics and outings and family gatherings, holding their hands and falling asleep in their laps. It all seemed so _real_, that when he woke the blow was all the more bitter. _They're gone. They're *gone*._ The shock had worn off, and the truth seared him like acid. And now the tears came, in wild, anguished sobs, and he could not stop them, try as he might. Bilbo had come in and lifted him gently, rocking him and stroking him as he wept hour after hour. Finally, towards dawn, he fell asleep. He slept till noon, when Bilbo woke him and again had him eat something. After that, all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and cry, but Bilbo had gently and firmly pushed him out the door.

« Go explore, cousin Frodo. The fresh air'll do you good. »

__

Do me good. Right, he thought cynically. He seriously doubted that anything could do him good. But as he had been practically ordered to do something, he began to walk. He came into the village, where he found that wherever he went, conversations stopped and people looked at him with a mixture of pity, curiosity, and fear. He met no one's eyes and stalked on resolutely. _Oh, honestly. Drowning's not contagious. Fools,_ he thought bitterly. _The way they all shut up when I come near, they have to be talking about me. Look how nervous I make them. Well, I don't care ! It's free air, I can breathe it if I've a mind to! I'm glad they don't talk . If they did, it would be all stupidities._

Frodo wandered about for a while and finally came back to Bag End, feeling both pitied and pitiable. Bilbo asked him how it went, and he lost his tenuous self-control. « It was awful ! » he cried. « They all stared at me like I was cursed! And the way they kept whispering - well I don't care what they think ! They can all go _hang_ ! » he said, with tears streaming down his cheeks. 

« Frodo, cousin… » Bilbo began, but it was too late. Frodo ran to his room and slammed the door with a resounding crash. The sound of his weeping echoed in the house, tight and pained. Bilbo winced, and waited a few moments before knocking softly. « Can I come in ? » he asked gently.

« No ! Go away ! » came the muffled reply. Bilbo sighed and waited another moment before entering. Frodo was lying with his face buried in his pillows, weeping as though his young heart would break. Bilbo sat down on the edge of the bed, and Frodo stiffened.

« Leave me alone ! » he said into his pillow.

« Frodo, my lad. You can't let them get to you this way » Bilbo said.

« Why can't they just mind their own business ? » asked Frodo, not lifting his head.

« People will be people, cousin. It can't be helped. Step lightly, hold your head high, and cry in private. The whispers will die down in a few weeks. Until then, you must be strong. Do you understand me ? Strong. » He waited for a moment before Frodo's head nodded. He patted him on the back and left the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: What'd you think? Should I go on? Please review! Thank you!


	2. Elf-child

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Author Notes: Okay, I already had this part written, so don't think I can invent and update this quickly! Thank you, those of you who reviewed! Paper Crane, the quote marks aren't messed up, my Word program is on French Standard grammar settings g I've been writing a bunch of papers for my French class, and that's what French quote marks look like. I can understand where it's confusing. Um, okay. The description of Samwise is all mine, and I've always held with the opinion that Sam was _slender._ The child came from a poor family and worked _hard_ all his young life. I love Sean Astin as Sam, I think he rules – but this does not change my opinion. So, you're forewarned. cough Onward and upward, then. J 

Frodo had gradually learned the ways of the place. He avoided the village as much as possible, but Bilbo still sent him to run errands now and then. When he came to the marketplace, he would quickly and quietly get whatever it was Bilbo needed with as few words as necessary. The pitying glances people gave him did not, as he had hoped, stop altogether. They did not stop at all, nor the murmurs that would start up when he turned his back. Frodo ignored them as best he could, but they hurt him, because they reminded him constantly of what now was.

He took to wandering – alone of course – in the surrounding countryside. One never has to go far from anywhere in the Shire to get to the countryside, and so when Frodo was nudged out the door every morning, he would walk through woods and fields and meadows and hills. He would wander, and think, and more often than not, he cried. Sometimes in his wanderings, he came upon other hobbit lads and lasses, who would gaze at him disinterestedly for a moment before moving on. They did not know who he was or what had happened to him, nor did they care. For this, Frodo was intensely grateful. _At least *they* leave me alone. _

At the end of the second week, he found the meadow. He had awoken that morning – as he now woke every morning – with his cheeks wet, his pillow soaked with tears, and a deep ache in his heart. Without even waiting for Bilbo to force him, he got up, got dressed, and left, running between trees and over hilltops. And then he saw it – the meadow. It was not very far from Bag End, but it was very, very quiet. _A lonely place,_ Frodo thought to himself. _Good. I want to be alone._ So he had explored it for a while, and fully assured himself that no one else knew of it. The only sounds were the wind in the long grass and a few birds. He surveyed his new domain for a while. _Yes, a lonely place. A quiet place. My place,_ he thought. _I will come here again._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

And so he did. Every day, he came, when Bilbo did not need something done. He would rise early, throw some food into a daypack, and set out. The gardener, Hamfast, was always already up when he headed off on these excursions, and they exchanged greetings. One morning, towards the end of the third week, he presented Frodo with a basket, covered with a cloth. The basket was warm, and whatever it contained smelled marvelous.

« Thank you, Master Hamfast, » said Frodo, surprised. « What is it ? »

« Muffins, sir. The missus made them this morning, and sent some up with me to give to thee. Thinks you need nourishing, sir, and I must say, I do agree with her » he answered, eyeing Frodo's thin form. « Though our Samwise eats like a small horse, an' he's uncommon slender, too. So p'raps you don't _need_ nourishing, you only look it, » said Hamfast with a wry smile.

Frodo smiled back, the first time he had smiled since the accident three weeks before.

« Well, thank you. And thank your lovely wife for me. »

« That I'll do, sir. She'll be pleased. »

« I hope so. Good day to you, Master Hamfast. »

« Good day, Master Frodo. »

He walked on, with his basket of muffins, musing to himself. _Thinks I need nourishing, does she ? Ah, well, she's probably right. Everyone's always said I'm too thin. Still, it's very kind of her to think of me._ Frodo had not met Bell Gamgee, didn't know her but he had a very distinct feeling that he would like her when and if he _did_ meet her. _Fancy that, making muffins for someone she's never met. And they're good muffins, too, _he thought with approval. _It's the sort of thing Mother would do, making muffins… _He stopped dead in his tracks. _*Mother*_. His large blue eyes filled with tears at the thought of her, and suddenly he felt her loss so clearly he cried out in pain. « _Mother_ ! » 

He dropped the basket and muffins went rolling everywhere, but he paid no heed. He ran the short distance to the meadow and threw himself to the ground in the center of it. _oh, mother, mother, mother… _he sobbed. So weeping, he did not notice the small child who stood nearby, watching him anxiously, before walking off in the direction in which Frodo had come. Carefully, he gathered up the muffins, dusted them off, and replaced them in the basket. He left the basket on a large, flat stone, near to where Frodo had dropped it, and silently returned to Frodo's side, where he lay sleeping, exhausted with tears. Gently, so gently Frodo could hardly feel it, the little boy stroked his dark hair. He sighed in his sleep, and relaxed. The child grew bolder, pressing his lips lightly against Frodo's pale brow. Frodo had stirred then, and the boy quickly got up and disappeared into the safety of the trees.

Frodo found the basket there, hours later, when he woke. He was slightly unnerved. It was not the first time he had found things there. There had been a blue ribbon, once, another time some green glass beads, and a single yellow rose. There had even been some cherries in a pretty little bowl. Frodo had taken these presents curiously, and brought them with him in his pack whenever he came (except for the cherries, which he had eaten). He would take them out and look at them, and wonder who left them there. Now he was wondering again._I hope they didn't come here,_ he thought suddenly. _I don't want them in the meadow. It's my place now. _

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, he went again to the meadow, making sure to thank Hamfast for his wife's muffins. 

« Eh, now, that's grand, » said the gardener, grinning. « She'll be glad you liked 'em. »

« Oh, yes, I loved them, » Frodo said earnestly.

Hamfast chuckled softly. « Then tha'll do best to prepare for an onslaught of 'em. Once she's heard you love her cooking, you'll get no end of it. »

Frodo smiled. « I think I'd like that, Master Hamfast. Be sure to tell her so. »

« That'll I'll do, lad, that I'll do. Take care o' thyself now, » he warned.

« Yes, sir, I will. » Frodo promised.

__

I wonder about his accent… Sometimes it just seems a plain rustic, but other times… I can't place it. The way he called me 'thyself', for instance. It's not a Tuckborough accent. Certainly not a Buckland. I'll have to ask Bilbo where they come from… Frodo's train of thought was broken off suddenly when, upon arriving at the meadow, a movement caught his eye. _What the... ? _He looked harder.

What he saw appeared to be a small Elf. He was very slender, and wore black breeches, and a white tunic tied with a black sash. His hair was golden yellow, streaked with lighter blond, and the locks curled only very slightly at the ends. His features, from what Frodo could make out from his profile, were finely drawn. He moved lightly, gracefully through the field, and Frodo stood watching him for a few moments, till, out of sheer curiosity, he called out, « Hey ! » 

The Elf whirled round, surprised, seeming to have thought he was alone. Frodo's glance flicked over the face a moment – a young face, with soft black brows and long black lashes, surrounding eyes of the deepest green he had ever seen. He stood, stunned by them, for several moments, and then, before he could blink, the Elf-child was gone. « Wait ! » he cried suddenly. _Where did he go ? he was just there, _Frodo thought confusedly. He looked all over the meadow, and in the woods surrounding, but didn't find him. Had he looked up, rather than around, he might have spotted the slender form wrapped around a tree branch, and a pair of large green eyes watching him. The child smiled to himself, and waited for Frodo to stop searching before climbing soundlessly from the tree and slipping into the shadows again.

Frodo, for his part, was confused and intrigued. _Where did he get to ? _he wondered. _Wait till I tell Bilbo I saw an Elf ! he'll be excited, I'm sure… I hope he won't want to come here with me – in the hopes of seeing him again. I don't want Bilbo to know this place. My place. It's too ... private. Though I don't think I mind sharing it with an Elf. I wonder if he's the one who picked up the muffins ? _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

« Cousin, you won't believe it ! » Frodo said breathlessly, as he burst into the living room.

« Good heavens, what is it, my boy ? You're all in a fluster. » said Bilbo, privately relieved to see his young cousin in a mood other than sullen, tearful, or withdrawn.

« I saw – an Elf ! » said Frodo triumphantly, his blue eyes shining.

« What ? An Elf ? Here in the Shire ? Are you sure ? » Bilbo asked.

« Yes ! Yes, I'm sure ! What else could it have been ? » Frodo cried.

« Well, what did it look like ? » queried his cousin.

« Like an Elf » Frodo said, looking as though he thought it should be obvious.

Bilbo laughed. « No, my dear cousin, I meant 'describe him to me' »

« Oh… Well… » said Frodo. « He was small – child-sized really, and very, very slender, and he wore black leggings and a white tunic with a black sash, and his hair was gold, but his brows and lashes were black and he had the greenest eyes I've ever seen, cousin – you really should have seen them yourself – they were like – like – oh, I don't know, but very, very green, and he had a beautiful face, really beautiful, far too beautiful to be a hobbit – which is why I thought he was an Elf – and he looked very young, so maybe he was an Elf-child, and not an Elf and he… » Frodo trailed off. « Why are you laughing, cousin ? » he asked, puzzled.

« Did you see his feet ? » asked Bilbo.

« No, they were hidden by the grass. Anyway, I only saw him for a moment. Why do you ask ? »

« It's as I suspected. My dear Frodo, you didn't see an Elf-child. »

Frodo's face fell. « Well, then, what _did_ I see ? An apparition, I suppose ? » He was getting tetchy, but then _he_ thought he'd seen an Elf. And he had so wanted it to be an Elf, too. But now cousin Bilbo was spoiling it all.

Bilbo chuckled. « No, cousin, not an apparition, either. You have just described to me the living image of my gardener's youngest son, right down to the clothes he's wearing. Trust me when I tell you, his little feet are as furry as yours.»

« But – but… that's not possible ! He was far too graceful to be a hobbit. And beautiful, too, » Frodo countered.

« Yes, he _is_ graceful, isn't he ? Like a cat. Or a dancer. As for his beauty - the Fallohide strain runs pure in his blood, and is testified to by his appearance. That boy was the toast of the Shire when he was born, what with his sunny curls and impossibly green eyes. Little Samwise is still a favorite of all the women-folk – and many of the men-folk, too. They kiss him and coddle him and exclaim over his looks no end. He's remarkably unspoiled for a boy who only has to smile to get what he wants. » Bilbo said this last part almost to himself, with a wondering expression. « Well, young cousin. Does that explain your Elf ? »

« Yes, it does » said Frodo disappointedly. « And I wish it hadn't. I wanted him to be an Elf. »

« I am sorry, Frodo, to have spoiled your surprise, but you would have found out sooner or later, anyway » said Bilbo.

« Well, if he's the gardener's youngest, how come I haven't met him in the three weeks I've been here ? » Frodo asked suddenly.

« Oh, Sam wanders off on his own a lot. He's a solitary child. Sweet-natured, but very shy. Likes his loneliness » Bilbo answered.

__

Like me, Frodo thought, surprised. _Well, at least I'll get the chance to see him again._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: You like? I'll do more, if you want. Please, please, please review! That's what that button at the bottom of the screen is for. J 


	3. Picnic

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Author Notes: My reviewers: I love you forever! *showers much praise, flowers, confetti, and kisses upon you* I _will_ review your work (as soon as I can find the time) I promise you. Talking Hawk – Sam is four years old, so this story won't be a slash (I do intend to write slash in the future, though, so be forewarned.) Trilliah – you're the greatest! you're my friend forever! and, no, that button is not for decoration. shirebound – I'm getting to that part as fast as I can, I assure you. But not in this chapter. Paper Crane – can't wait for more? Here's more! Thank you! BelleMonte – you are also my friend forever! I'm updating for you, dahling (j/k!) . Thanks all of you for being so nice about this! I really appreciate it! As for the story – the age difference between Sam and Frodo is correctly recorded, but I don't think the age differences between himself and his siblings are. So if you want to verify it, it's not going to check out. Onward and upward!

By the time the sun rose the next morning, Frodo's mood had swung to the opposite pole. He got up, ate a quick breakfast, and left without saying good morning. His blue eyes were stormy-dark, and Bilbo looked after him worriedly. _So moody these days though it's hardly to be wondered at. I hope he's feeling alright._

Frodo was decidedly _not_ feeling alright. A more miserable hobbit cannot be imagined. As soon as he got beyond Bag End, he broke into a run. He ran and ran, not caring where he went. He ran until the ache in his heart eased away, until his grief was nothing compared with the fire in his chest as he struggled for air. He ran until he was too tired to run any further. When he stopped – in a wheatfield – he raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, and was surprised to find his face wet with tears. He hadn't realized he was crying as he ran. He dried his tears on the back of his hand, and finding a small stream, washed his face. 

He was suddenly very thirsty, and he drank for some minutes. When he finished, he felt refreshed, strong. He looked about for a moment before he recognized the place he was in. This was Farmer Cotton's land. _Which puts me out in Bywater,_ he thought. _That's a fair distance._ He turned and headed back towards Hobbiton, 4 miles away. As he was young and strong, he got there in a little under two hours.

Frodo came home, and, finding Bilbo gone – on a visit to another cousin– scrawled a quick note explaining that he was sorry he had rushed out that morning, and he might go out again this afternoon and left it on Bilbo's 'reading table' in the living room. He put his pack in his bedroom, and tried to interest himself in a book of Elvish history, but the history of that race is very long, very complicated, and rather melancholy – consequently extremely dull for a 16 year old who already had far too much to be melancholy about.

Frodo got up and walked outside. He contemplated going to the meadow again, but instead found himself walking over to the flower garden, where Hamfast was working on the herbaceous border.

« Hello, there, young man » the gardener said, looking up from his work.

« Hello, Master Hamfast » answered Frodo. « What's that you're doing ? »

« Just getting the last o' these seedlings planted, sir. It's all I have left, for today. »

« Oh, really ? » said Frodo, surprised, for normally he worked from sunrise to sundown.

« Yes, really, Master Frodo » Hamfast answered with a grin. « Today's my afternoon off. »

« Oh, I see » said Frodo, looking rather disappointed. He was feeling lonely and he wanted somebody to talk to.« Well, what are you going to do ? For your afternoon off, that is ? » 

« Well, sir, I was planning to go on a walk with t' missus, and t' children. We might make a picnic out of it » said the gardener, whose shrewd gaze could see the loneliness in those great blue eyes.

« A – a picnic ? » said Frodo, remembering picnics he had taken with _his _parents.

« Yes, sir. 'Tis a fine day » he said, gesturing expansively with a wave of his hand.

« Yes. Yes, it is, » answered Frodo, feeling lonelier than ever. Hamfast looked at him with something between paternal affection and sorrow_. Poor lad. Losing his parents like that. He's so lonesome. I wonder, now…_ He voiced his thoughts.

« I wonder, lad, if you'd be free to join us ? It'd just be for the afternoon, and the missus has been wanting to meet you. The children won't be too much trouble, I promise you, and… » Frodo's eyes had brightened, and a hopeful smile had settled on his mouth.

« Really ? I mean, yes ! Yes, I'd love to ! » he said eagerly.

« Eh, now, that's grand » said the gardener, smiling broadly. « I'll go tell Bell to pack a bit more food. » And with a final pat to the ground where he had been planting, he straightened up and turned homewards. « Tha's welcome to come with, young master » he said to Frodo, who had hung back, uncertainly. And so side by side, they walked down the hill and into the small, but nicely kept smial that the eight Gamgees called home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Inside was very clean, Frodo noticed. It smelled wonderful, like warm bread, and Frodo suddenly felt very hungry. 

« Bell, my lass ! » called Hamfast.

« In t' kitchen ! » came the reply, in a voice that reminded Frodo sharply of another's.

« Bell, my lass, I've brought thee company ! » he said, leading Frodo down a short hallway, and into the room from whence the voice had come. Frodo looked around. The room was small –as were all the rooms in the house – but beautifully whitewashed. Bright copper pans hung from hooks on the wall , there were brilliant blue irises in a vase on the table, and the room was filled with sunlight. 

At the counter, packing a picnic basket, stood a woman about 50 years in age. Her curly hair was long and dark, and held back neatly with a kerchief. She wore a simple blue cotton dress, and there was an apron tied 'round her waist. Upon their entering, she turned and smiled. Her dark eyes were kind and merry.

« So this is the company you've brought me ? » she questioned, looking at Frodo.

« Yes, Bell. This is t' young master. » 

« I'm pleased to meet thee, young master » she said with a glint of mischief in her eyes. Frodo felt suddenly very safe, very warm, and very glad to be there. He smiled at her.

« Just Frodo, Mistress Bell. Just Frodo. »

She smiled back. « Alright then, lad. Just Frodo. » She turned to her husband, who was smiling at both of them. « Ham, gather up t' children, will you ? No good me packing a picnic if there's no one to eat it. »

He nodded. « Surely, Bell. But what about young Samwise ? » he asked. Her eyes went soft and shining.

« Oh, we'll find him on the way, I'm thinking » she said. He nodded again, and went off to collect his various offspring.

« Is there anything I can do to help, Mistress ? » Frodo asked.

« Aye, » she nodded. « That there is. Tha can help me with the last o' the packing up, here. Sooner finished, sooner we can go. » Frodo noticed in her the same strange accent that he had heard in Hamfast's speech. His curiosity piqued, and he asked her about it.

« I know for certain it's not a Buckland. It does sound a little like a Tuckborough, though. I was wondering where your people come from ? » he said, looking at her questioningly.

« Well, if you grew up in Buckland, it's small wonder tha doesn't know. 'Tis a West Farthing accent. Us Gamgees come from t' other side of the Shire, completely ! » she laughed, and Frodo laughed with her, though he didn't know why. The warm, safe feeling washed over him again.

« Yes, you do » he agreed. « Well, now that the picnic's packed… »

« We'll be settin' out » she finished for him. She placed the picnic basket in a large backpack, which she slung over her shoulder. « Are we ready ? »

« Yes, Mistress, all ready. » Frodo grinned. She smiled back.

« Well, then, Frodo-lad, what're we waitin' for ? Let's go ! » And they marched out into the sunshine. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Out on the grass in front of the smial was Hamfast, surrounded by his children. Frodo counted five, of varying ages, but he didn't see his Elf-child. He felt somehow disappointed at least until Marigold, the littlest Gamgee, came running over and attached herself to his leg. She was a tiny child of two, with wild dark curls and huge dark eyes. She stared adoringly up at Frodo, who delightedly bent down and scooped her up.

« Hello, there. Who're you ? » he asked playfully.

« That's Marigold, » answered her older sister, May. « She's still too little to talk much. Look's like she's taken quite a shine to you » she said with a smile. The little one had leaned forward until her face was touching Frodo's. She then put her little hands on either side of his head and kissed his forehead soundly. Frodo laughed.

« Well, thank you ! I like you, too. »

Marigold smiled at him, and then wriggled to be put down. She did, however, stay close by him as they walked. The Gamgees had, in the manner of large families, simply adopted Frodo as one of the group, and he felt happier than he had felt for a long time. There, walking among them, joking with the older boys and watching out for Marigold, he could almost imagine that this was _his_ family. Almost. Not quite. But it was a start.

« Certainly is a forward little thing » Frodo remarked about Marigold, who had taken his hand in hers and skipped along beside him. 

« Yes, » laughed Halfred. « She's Sam's opposite. It's why they're so close. »

« Sam ? » questioned Frodo. « Why ? What's he like ? » All seven Gamgees paused a moment and smiled. 

« Sam is … himself » answered Daisy, and they all nodded. Frodo wondered what that meant, but they seemed to think it a satisfactory answer, so he asked no more except, « Where is he ? »

« Oh, he's about » they all said at once, and laughed at the coincidence. 

« Sam goes off on his own a lot, » said Hamfast for Frodo's benefit. « We'll most like meet up with him in a short while. He knows where we're goin'. » Frodo nodded. _I wonder where it is he goes ? Oh , I do hope we'll see him. I want to know if he's my Elf._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A short while later, they came to their chosen destination – another meadow, ringed with trees and full of flowers. This one had a little creek running through it, and the children promptly set about getting themselves wet. The day was hot, the water was cool, and it felt good just to run around playing with other children again. Having grown up in Buckland, he was used to having numerous cousins to play with at any time. When he moved to Bag End a month ago, he did not realize it, but his loneliness underscored his grief. _Well, I'm not lonely now, _he thought, grinning. _What delightful people. _Just then came a call from Hamfast.

« Samwise ! » he cried joyfully. « Come here, lad ! » 

Little Sam did not see Frodo amongst them, and ran over to his father, who picked him up and tossed him in the air. Laughing and screaming in safe terror, he came down again, caught in his father's strong arms. « Da ! Tha mustn't frighten me so! » he said, with all the sternness his four-year-old countenance could manage. Hamfast smiled at his son, and kissed his golden hair. 

« And have ye no word for your mother, then ? » asked Bell with a smile. Sam was handed over into her waiting arms. « And where hasta been, all this long day ? » she asked.

« Oh, about » he answered, and they all laughed. « Lookit, Mum, I found summat for thee » he said, pulling from his pocket a bright blue feather.

« Oh, Sam ! 'Tis such a pretty thing ! » she exclaimed. He smiled. « Isn't it lovely ? » she asked the others, who all expressed their agreement. Sam shifted, and Bell put him down, but not before kissing him. He giggled, and Frodo had high hopes of introducing himself just then, but the boy never even saw him. His brothers and sisters gathered 'round him and picked him up, kissing him and chattering away while he listened, wide-eyed and unusually attentive for such a young child. At least, until May got it into her head to start tickling him. He shrieked with laughter as he writhed to get away.

« Don't May, don't ! Don't tickle ! » he cried, when he could get his breath. « Hamson, make her stop ! » he implored his eldest brother.

« Alright, May, that's enough » said his brother, taking the boy from his sister's arms. Sam gasped for air, his face flushed. He stood up, straightened his tunic, and frowned at his sister for a moment with the same stern look there had been before – but he spoiled the effect by throwing his arms around her neck and kissing her. May looked very pleased. 

In the lull of the next few moments, Frodo again opened his mouth to introduce himself, but little Marigold had left off her attentions and was standing next to Sam, looking at him reverently. Sam smiled brightly. « Come on, Mari-dear ! » he said. « I've things to show thee. » And taking her small hand in his own equally small one, they took a sandwich each from the picnic basket, kissed their parents, and walked off into the woods. Their little forms were soon lost to sight among the trees. 

« And who was that ? » Frodo asked innocently, though he well knew.

« That's our Samwise » said his parents with a proud smile in the direction he had gone.

« Our little brother » said the children, with the same proud smile.

« Well, I should have liked to meet him – as it was, we didn't even get introduced ! » he teased. They laughed.

« You'll meet him one of these days, Frodo, no doubt » said Bell. « He's told me about you. »

« Told you ? » asked Frodo, surprised.

« Yes, he's seen thee several times when he goes out wandering. Just hasn't worked up the nerve to go introduce himself » said Hamfast.

« Terrible shy with strangers, is our Sam » said Halfred, by way of explanation.

« He'll come to thee when he's ready » said Bell. Frodo nodded, more intrigued than ever by his small Elf. _I hope he's ready soon,_ he thought, but he soon forgot as the others resumed the games they had been playing. Everything was very bright –the sunlight, the water, the laughter of his newfound friends – and served to dispel the darkness that had settled over Frodo's heart. He was pretending very hard to himself that this _was_ his family. By the end of the afternoon, he very nearly believed it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Review, review, review! I don't have much else to say on the matter. J 


	4. Glass Jewels

****

Author Notes: I love you all! I might die of happiness, but then you'd never get the ending, would you? Mish – thanks for reading! I'm getting to that part, slowly but surely, I promise. Butterfly – I love you always! You're the greatest! BelleMonte – um, dear,cough, I wrote it so that the Gamgees came from the West Farthing. _Away_ from Buckland. But never mind; I'm so glad you like it! You write such nice reviews! Yay! As for the 'young man' comment – you know what I _meant!_ Besides, saying 'young hobbit' a lot tends to back up the conversation. g Paper Crane – thank you! I thought so, too. But more angst is on the way. Not easy to write about coping with grief without some angst. shirebound – you're the coolest! I wanted Frodo to have some sort of relationship with the Gamgees. Glad you like the way it turned out. As for this installment, most people write fics where Frodo doesn't know he loves Sam till Sam is – well, physically mature (and extremely handsome.) And then Frodo not only loves him, he loves Sam _that_ way cough. Need I say more? So I decided Frodo starts loving him now (yes, that's right. This very instant g). Later, this love can grow into _that_ love (brotherly as opposed to romantic), but for now, he just loves him. I'm babbling; these notes are almost as long as the chapter. Onward and upward, my friends!

He came home just as the sun was setting, after a final farewell to the Gamgee clan. The other children had treated him like a fourth brother, Hamfast had tousled his hair affectionately, and Bell had kissed him on the forehead before he left. There was a warm, easy glow in him as he headed back up the hill to Bag End. Turning one last time, he saw Samwise and Marigold come running back, hand in hand, to their home. The sunset flared on Sam's hair and turned it dark gold. _What a pretty child,_ Frodo thought to himself, before sighing and opening the front door.

Bilbo was in the living room, reading a book. Frodo entered quietly.

« Hello, cousin » said Bilbo, smiling. 

« Hello. Sorry I'm late. I was off with the Gamgees, picnicking » he explained.

« That's fine. Did you have a nice time ? » Bilbo asked, noting with relief that darkness in Frodo's eyes was gone.

« Oh, yes ! » said Frodo emphatically. « A _wonderful_ time ! »

« Bell Gamgee packs a good picnic » Bilbo said with a chuckle. « Did you see your Elf ? »

« Only for a short while » said Frodo, frowning slightly. « He was kissed by everybody before he grabbed a sandwich and ran off with Marigold. I wanted to introduce myself, but he didn't even see me. »

Bilbo chuckled again. « It's just as well. He's a very shy child. »

« Yes, that's what his family all said. » Frodo looked wistful at the mention of Sam's family. « He's the favorite, isn't he ? » he asked. « I mean, the way they looked at him – all of them – like he was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened. And such a pretty child » Frodo mused. 

« Yes, he's the favorite. And it's truly incredible that he's not a spoiled brat. He's got all the fixings. » Bilbo raised his brows. « I suppose some children are just _born_ good » he said, looking incredulous.

« Mhm » nodded Frodo absently, thinking about Sam. Thoughts of Sam led to thoughts of Sam's parents, which in turn led to thoughts of his own. The glow in him faded, and he felt sad again. _I wish to heaven I could just find a mood and keep it ! _he thought crossly. The emotional storms of the past several weeks were tying him in knots and wearing him down. Bilbo saw his mood shift again, and worried for him.Frodo sighed, and mumbled good night. 

__

I wish I was Samwise, he thought suddenly, walking down the dark hallway to his room. _He still has parents._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Every morning after that, Hamfast presented him with something Bell had made. Frodo was fast learning that Bell Gamgee was one of the finest cooks in the Shire, and he always expressed his appreciation for the gifts. About a week after the picnic, he went down to their smial and thanked Bell himself.

« They're wonderful, Mistress, just wonderful. I look forward to them every morning, » he said earnestly. Bell smiled proudly.

« Thank you, young master. I'm glad of it, » she said. « Nothin' to make a body feel better than a good meal in the morning. Come in, come in ! You can have your second breakfast with us. »

Frodo hesitated, uncertain, and she took his hand and led him inside. The house was quiet, and then a burst of laughter rang out from the living room. Bell shook her head. « My girls, » she said fondly. They entered the kitchen, and Frodo could see the girls through the adjoining door. Daisy was sitting at a loom, weaving, and May was busy polishing something. Marigold sat on the floor in a pile of yarn, playing with a handful of colored glass beads.

The weather outside was cool and rainy, and made being inside seem that much cozier. Frodo sat at the kitchen table, eating one of Bell's excellent cinnamon rolls while she prepared breakfast. « Where're the boys ? » he asked, and she turned to him, surprised.

« They've all been out working since cock-crow, » she said.

« You mean they haven't had breakfast yet ? » Frodo asked, raising his brows. Bell smiled at him.

« Aye, they've had breakfast. In the dark, before dawn. » Frodo almost choked on his roll.

« Why'd they have to get up so early ? »

« We all get up so early. There's work to be done, lad, an' it won't wait » Bell explained, rather amused at his ignorance of working-class ways. Frodo, who, until the accident, had made a habit of not waking until mid-morning, felt humbled and strangely ashamed of not thinking sooner. _They're not rich, you idiot. Not everyone has money. Some people actually have to earn it._ His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and there was a short, uncomfortable silence. Then Bell reached over and tousled his hair, smiling affectionately, and Frodo felt forgiven, somehow. He smiled back at her, before another question came to him.

« Even Samwise ? » he asked. « Surely he's too young ? »

« Even Samwise. He's only four, but already useful, » she explained, and her eyes shone. _Yes, he's the favorite, no question,_ Frodo thought.

« Will I get to meet him ? » he asked suddenly. Bell frowned thoughtfully.

« It depends. We'll have to tell him you're here. What he does after – he may or may not decide to stay. »

« Why doesn't he like me ? » he asked unhappily.

« He does like you ! He likes you very much, young Frodo make no mistake about that. But he's terrible shy, is Samwise even if he stays, he won't look at you, nor talk to you, » she said.

« But _why _? »

« I told you, lad he's shy. Think about it. » Frodo thought, remembering his own childhood. It was no use he had never been terribly shy about anything. Quiet, yes, but not shy. He sighed. 

« Oh, well. Least I'll get to meet him, » he said. Bell looked at him curiously.

« An' why hasta taken such an interest in him, lad ? » she asked. Frodo hesitated, unsure of what to say. He decided on a half-truth, leaving out the incident at the meadow.

« I – I like him. I don't know why, I just do. I saw him once, when I was out walking. And he's … left me things. Little gifts. Here, I'll show you, » he said, hefting his pack onto his lap and pulling the things out one by one. Bell paused in her work and came over, picking up the gifts and turning them over in her hands. 

« Isn't that just like him, now ? » she murmured softly. Frodo looked up at her.

« I think he's the one whose been leaving these for me I almost caught him doing it once. But then he disappeared. I just want to thank him, » he said. « And to ask why. »

« Why ? » Bell said. « He likes you, you silly. He wants to be your friend. This is the best way he knows to win you over without _actually_ introducing himself. »

« Oh, » said Frodo, surprised. _I hadn't thought of that._ « Well, he's won me already. I told you, I like him. I like him a lot. I just want to meet him, now. »

« That'll come when it comes, » she said. « Just give him some time to work up his nerve, an' you'll have him. He'll be a true friend to you, one of these days. »

« I don't doubt it, » Frodo said. The girls in the living room had quieted enough to hear his voice, and Daisy called through the door.

« Frodo ? Sir, is that you ? » Frodo stood and went into the living room. The sisters left off their respective duties and embraced him, with a soft kiss to either cheek. He blushed hotly and felt strangely pleased to be so included in their familial group. Marigold shrieked with joy and ran over, holding her arms out. Frodo laughed and picked her up, kissing her wild dark curls. 

The sound of voices came from outside, and the front door opened as the men of the family came trooping in. Their dark hair was wind-tousled, their faces smudged and their hands black with dirt. Their shirts were wet, and Frodo could see the well-developed muscle underneath. But for this, they showed no signs of having been workiing since sunrise their eyes were bright and smiles played about their mouths as they burst into the kitchen. _Hamfast, Halfred , - where's Hamson?_ Frodo wondered. The narrow hallways had rather obstructed the eldest son from view, but Frodo saw him as they entered the kitchen. _He's got Samwise !_ The little boy was equally awake and alert, but his brother carried him, nonetheless, as though he were an Elven princeling whose feet should not touch the ground.

The sisters called out their greetings, and there was a general air of business and confusion for a few moments, till Bell called out « Breakfast ! » The sisters rose – except Marigold, who was still in Frodo's arms – and the four of them joined the others in the kitchen. The older boys exclaimed in delight when they saw Frodo and immediately were beside him, patting his back and mussing his hair and asking him how he was and what he'd been doing. 

Frodo looked for Samwise, but Hamson had put him down. He saw him standing over by Bell, looking out warily from behind his mother's skirts. The boy didn't meet his eyes when Frodo looked at him, and ducked quickly back behind his mother. Bell knelt down in front of her son and touched foreheads with him. She was murmuring something that Frodo couldn't quite catch for all the conversation around him, but his Elf-child relaxed and nodded. Bell kissed Sam on the forehead and handed him the largest cinnamon roll. He smiled brilliantly up at her and, to Frodo's disappointment and dismay, left the room. Bell saw his expression and smiled apologetically at him. 

« Sorry, lad. I did warn you, » she said. Frodo sighed. 

« Yes, Mistress, » he agreed. The others seemed to take no notice of it and sat down to breakfast.

__

One of these days, I'm going to meet that child. No matter what, I'm going to meet that child and we're going to be friends. But first, I have to meet him, Frodo thought. _And therein lies the trouble._

He ended up spending the rest of the day with the Gamgees, most of it with the daughters. The men came in for dinner and afternoon tea, and Frodo was asked by all of them several times over to stay for supper. He willingly complied with their wishes, and ate better that day than he had for six weeks. The girls were smart and funny and friendly and kind, and Frodo found himself wishing for sisters. He felt completely at ease in their company, and the day would have been perfect, but for the fact that he only saw Samwise once after breakfast. He had gone to fetch more yarn from the linen closet for Daisy, and walking down the hallway, passed an open door. Looking in, he had seen his Elf sitting on a narrow bed, playing with some colored glass beads, like Marigold's. A sudden gleam of sun had pierced the clouds outside, and the glass beads glowed like jewels, lighting the face of the boy who bent over them. In that instant, completely absorbed and unaware of Frodo's presence, bent over his little glass jewels with a look of delight, Frodo became convinced that Samwise was the most beautiful child he had ever seen. A strange warmth spread through him as he gazed, and he found himself smiling. _I love this boy,_ he decided, and nodded to himself. _Yes. I love this boy, and I don't know why. But I love him. And one of these days, he'll know. One of these days, he'll be my friend, and then he'll love me, too._ For the first time in six weeks, Frodo felt absolutely sure.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: You like? More is on the way! Just review, and I'll update faster (this is called extortion. eg).


	5. Mood Swings

****

Author Notes: Whee! Another update! shirebound – thanks for reviewing again! You're so great! Wolf Child – Sam is four. Any slash I wrote would be child pornography. This is not a slash, calm your fears. None of this story will be slash, Frodo doesn't love Sam romantically (yet. When Sam's grown up, sure. But he's not. He's four.) Trilliah – girl, I love you! Butterfly – of course you're still my beta-reader! I ran this story past you, you said it was good. Remember? O_O Still my beta-reader, but first and foremost my friend. Thanks for reviewing (even if I don't read Japanese g)! BelleMonte – yeah, I know what you meant g. You give me such nice reviews! Thank you! Paper Crane – thanks so much! I love you, all my reviewers! Thank you thank you thank you! I'm updating just for you! Okay, sweetness in the last few chapters, now we're back to angst. Hope I did a good job with it (cough, that's a hint to tell me in your review)!

Frodo started having breakfast with the Gamgees every morning. Oftentimes, he would remain there for the better part of the day, talking with them and helping around the house as best he could. But every day, he talked a little less. Bell started keeping a close eye on him, and her shrewd gaze didn't miss the pallor of his cheeks, nor the shadows under his eyes, nor how those eyes were red at the corners with weeping. He seldom smiled anymore, and never laughed. In three weeks, he had gone from healing and hope to the emptiness and pain of the first days. Frodo was miserable, and thoroughly bewildered. _What's wrong with me ? I was fine ! Everything was fine ! Why do I hurt so much now ?_

Sitting in the Gamgee's kitchen one morning, watching the rain outside the window – it was an unusually rainy summer for the Shire – he closed his eyes. He heard rain, smelled warm bread, heard a woman – Bell – singing, felt her hand laid soft against his cheek. He jerked with surprise at the touch, but didn't open his eyes. _Mother used to do that, used to sing and bake and I'd sit in the kitchen and she would touch me just like this, Mother used to do this…_ He opened his eyes and looked up. Bell was looking down at him with an expression so motherly the tears just filled his eyes and slipped down his face unnoticed.

« Oh, Frodo, » she murmured, shaking her head. _Mother used to say that, just like that…_ He had a sudden, wild desire to throw his arms around Bell's neck and weep himself senseless, his face buried in that soft, sweet-scented hair, those nurturing arms tight about him…

« Mistress ? » he said, his voice wavering. Bell raised her brows. « Can I – could I call you M-mother ? » he stammered. _Oh, please, don't be angry, I don't know why I said it, you remind me of her sometimes please let me call you mother I just want a mother again please –_

« No, Frodo, » Bell said quietly. Frodo's eyes widened, and there was in them a hint of desperation.

« But – » he protested.

« _No._ I'm not your mother, lad » she said sternly. Frodo flinched as though he'd been struck and looked away, trying his hardest to control the tears that spilled down his pale cheeks. He was surprised when Bell reached out and picked him up, gathering him to her as easily as if he were Sam's size. « I'm not your mother, » she repeated softly. A cold, hard ache tightened in Frodo's chest, and laying his head on her shoulder, he wept freely. Bell carried him to the living room, and sat down in the rocking chair where she'd rocked all her children. Slowly, gently, she rocked him, until his breathing eased and he fell asleep. _My poor baby, my poor Frodo. Lad, you're so lonely. That's what's wrong.You don't need a mother, an' I couldn't be one to you. You need a friend. A friend to share your loneliness, a friend to ease your pain. A friend to just – be there. An' *that* I think I can manage, if you can catch him._

Bilbo had worried a little about Frodo's whereabouts that first morning he had spent with the Gamgees, especially because he was gone all day. _Where is he ? Oh dear, oh dear, I hope he hasn't run away. Of course he wouldn't, Bilbo, you old fool. The boy has a good head on his shoulders, he wouldn't run away, especially not in this weather. Would he ? He's been so moody, so unpredictable teenage emotions run high, he may not be thinking clearly..._ So his thoughts ran until Hamfast assured him that the boy was safe and warm in the Gamgee's kitchen, busy eating Bell's cinnamon rolls. Bilbo was relieved, but the possibility of Frodo running away lodged itself firmly in his thoughts and nagged at him constantly. He started asking Frodo where he was going, and how long he would stay. « At least leave a note, if you're going early, » Bilbo said. « I just want to know where you are, lad. I don't want to have to worry. » Frodo looked irritated at the questions, but complied readily enough. 

Another week passed, and then another. Frodo's moods had been getting even more unpredictable he could be laughing one moment and weeping the next, and before Bilbo could ask what was wrong, he would run from the room. 

Bilbo's anxiety grew as Frodo began sleeping less and crying out in nightmares. Always he would wake from these dreams weeping, and Bilbo often heard him crying softly at night. When he tried to offer comfort, Frodo would tell him to go away, to leave him alone. « I don't want _you_, » he said once, speaking with difficulty through his tears. If Bilbo didn't leave, he got angry. « Leave me _alone !_ Just go _away !_ » he cried, sitting up and glaring at him furiously. His blue eyes were dark and their look was wild had he been older or less self-contained, he might have hit Bilbo. But always, a shadow would pass over his face, and he would fall back onto his pillows, weeping. « Just go away_._ _Please_ » he whispered, and Bilbo would leave reluctantly, more worried than ever. _He needs a friend,_ he thought. _He can't do this alone, and I'm too much older than he is to really count. Confusticate and bebother it all ! I wish Gandalf was here. _He paused. _No, wait. What about that boy ? His Elf ? Oh… now *that* might work…_

~*~*~*~*~*~*

There was an ache in Frodo's heart that grew as the weeks passed, and he was much troubled, but he didn't know why. Every time he tried to pin it down, the thought slipped away from him as easily as a minnow in a pond. He spent much of his time in the meadow, now it was the only place that offered him solace. He poured out his sorrows into the wind, and the trees and grasses told not his secrets. Many were the gifts he found in those weeks – more beads, of all colors, and wildflowers, and a bracelet of braided yarn, and – strangely enough – a piece of birch bark with a portrait of himself scratched into it. The drawing was unusually delicate, and had captured all his features with a peculiar grace. _He couldn't have drawn this, _Frodo thought. _He must've had someone else do it, and then he brought it here._

On the contrary, the boy _had_ drawn the picture over the course of weeks of quiet watching. Frodo's features were very distinctive, almost Elvish, and little Samwise had a sharp eye and nimble fingers. Many a piece of bark was discarded before he obtained what he'd been after, and the final result was undeniably Frodo. He'd kept the portrait under his pillow for a week before finally – and very reluctantly – parting with it. He would talk to it, and kiss it, and hug it close, dreaming about a time somewhere in the future where he and the dark-haired stranger-boy would be friends. 

He had seen them – Frodo and Bilbo – the day Frodo had arrived. The pale stranger, with his thick, dark hair and sad blue eyes had made an immediate impression on him. Coming upon him in the meadow, weeping, the boy felt so sorry for him he almost wept himself. Samwise had no idea what had befallen Frodo, but he had a very compassionate nature, and Frodo's grief pained him no end. And so the little boy had watched and waited, and found a way and a reason to make Frodo smile. The little gifts Sam left – things he himself treasured – were apparently much appreciated by the stranger. The grief would lift from his face awhile, and if he did not smile, at least he did not weep. But when he did weep – oh ! It tore at the child's own heart. So still he watched, and waited, and found other ways to soothe him.

He had already decided that he loved Frodo most in all the world, and that, contrary to what his elder sisters said, this was _not_ some childish infatuation that would fade as he grew older. No, sir – _this_ was the real thing. He loved Frodo, and he knew it. Now, the problem lay in telling Frodo himself. And it was a problem, too he had a broad streak of shyness. _But one o' these days, I'll tell him. An' then we'll be friends. Yes. We'll be friends._ And he smiled secretly to himself.

Frodo took the portrait and put it on his nightstand. Later, it got put into a drawer, and there it remained for more than 40 years. He would take it out and look at it, and think of the boy who had given it to him. When he left across the Sundering Seas, it was one of the two things he brought with him. For now, it lay on his bedside table, where he could see it always. 

By far the most treasured of all the gifts he found was – a blanket. A simple, green, woven wool blanket, somewhat frayed at the edges and indescribably soft with years of washing. _This is his blanket,_ Frodo thought, and had no doubt about it. He rubbed the soft fabric against his cheek, and clung to it at night. Many a tear he shed into the soft green wool of that blanket, and it was his greatest comfort when his heart was sore then, and in later years. This too, went across with him into the West, and he held it when his arms ached to hold its owner. Long years he kept it, until they were rejoined. But all that was many, many years in the future.

Frodo came to the meadow on an afternoon when the sky was white with heat, and the air seemed thick and sticky. Clothes clung damply to the skin and hair clung wetly to the scalp. All sound seemed muffled, all motions slow. Frodo came to the meadow to get out of the house, because the heat was even worse inside. He walked slowly under the trees that ringed it, though in the humidity, their shade did little good. He went to the stone where the gifts were left, and saw there a bottle of water. He almost laughed out loud. _Practical little thing, this Samwise._ He heard a sudden noise, and turning swiftly, saw a small foot disappearing behind a tree. _It's him ! Ilbereth, what do I do now ?I shouldn't call out he left last time I did that._ Carefully setting the water bottle down, he walked softly towards the tree. The boy slipped away, faster than sight, and hid behind another tree. Frodo came closer, and Sam again disappeared. Frodo frowned, confused.

« Hello ? » he called. Sam stood stock-still, barely breathing. He grinned to himself when Frodo didn't find him. It was fun, this hide-and-seek. Frodo paused a moment and listened, then walked determinedly towards Sam's tree. The child waited half a second, and ran.

« Hey ! » Frodo cried upon seeing him. « _Hey !_ Wait ! » He began running after Sam, but his Elf proved faster and more agile. Sam dodged between trees, running through the shadows.

« Hey ! » Frodo cried again, and heard a silvery laugh. _He's teasing me ! The bloody imp is teasing me !_ he thought, but couldn't bring himself to be angry. Rather, he felt like laughing himself at the ridiculousness of it all. _Here I am, a sixteen year-old chasing a child through the woods – and _losing ! _It's too ironic._

He chased for several more minutes before finally losing sight of the child. _Oh, I give up. It's too hot,_ he thought, wiping the sweat from his brow. _That was fun,_ he realized suddenly. _Really. I wish he hadn't gotten away._

« Well, wherever you are – one of these days I'm going to catch you ! » he called to the trees. Another silvery giggle touched upon his hearing, and he smiled. « One of these days, » he promised himself, and walked slowly home. His heart was strangely lightened by the encounter, and remained so for the rest of the day. _It's him. It must be. Something about him makes it better, makes it go away – whatever 'it' is. Something about him…_

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Like it? They're going to meet soon, no fear! I hope I did alright with the angst O_O Thank you all for reading and reviewing! You're the greatest!


	6. Argument

****

Author Notes: Thanks again for all the reviews! I love you people, really truly! Okay, more angst. Lots more angst. Tell me if you like it! They meet in the next chapter!

The next morning all thoughts of the elf/hobbit/gardener's son were struck from Frodo's mind. All night, he had dreamed of his parents, and the last dream had been particularly dreadful. He dreamed he was much younger, 4 or 5, and that the three of them had gone on a hike through the forest. But then his mother was gone, and suddenly his father was gone as well, and he was all alone. He called for them, in his little child's voice, until it got dark, and cold. And then he knew, with the odd logic of dreams, that they had left him, and would never come back, no matter how long or how loudly he called. _Abandoned me. They *abandoned* me. _He was wakened by the sound of his own voice, calling « Dad ? Dad ! » 

Frodo threw on some clothes and ran out into the sunrise, leaving the front door standing wide open behind him. He fell several times, and this only served to darken his mood. He was 16 and orphaned. _Orphaned._ The word stung him like a slap across his face. He saw other children – laughing, singing, playing in the roads – and jealousy rose in his throat like gall, choking him. He ran harder.

Without knowledge or intention, he had come to his meadow. His thoughts seethed and smoldered in his mind, taking voice. « It's not fair ! Why _me _? ! Why _my _parents and not somebody else's ? why did they have to die why did they _leave_ me why did they do this to me it's not _fair_! » he cried passionately to the empty meadow. His anger and confusion came surging up and expressed themselves in three short words, screamed with the all rage and pain of a broken heart – « I _hate_ them ! » He realized now what had been troubling him, and grief slammed against him like a wall of stone. _No, I don't hate them. But, Eru save me, I miss them._ He buried his head in his arms and wept himself senseless. 

He dreamed that gentle hands were on his hair, and soft cool lips pressed to his brow. « Mother… » he murmured. Sam did not leave, this time, but stroked Frodo's dark curls and whispered a lullaby his own mother still sang to him when he had nightmares and needed soothing. The tension went out of Frodo, and he slept even more deeply. Sam stayed with him for a while, until he sensed Frodo was waking. He kissed him one more time and walked away. He didn't know why he was so brave when Frodo was asleep, but as Frodo did not sense him, Sam felt as though he were still invisible to him, in a way. _Invisible is safer,_ he thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Frodo woke again, it was noonday. The sun was warm on his back, and the grasses and flowers smelled sweet. He might have fallen asleep again, but he was cramped from lying on the ground so long. Slowly, he got up and brushed himself off. His tears had washed his pain away, for the time being, and he felt lighter, easier, better for knowing that he didn't hate his parents. _They didn't abandon me. They didn't leave me on purpose. What happened wasn't their fault it wasn't *my* fault. They didn't abandon me. And I don't hate them for dying,_ he realized. A great load came off his heart , and the ache that had been tearing at him was gone. Like a wound that's been cleansed, his hurt now began to truly heal. 

Blinking in the sunlight, he turned, and on the ground to his left, saw a little bird's nest, with the eggshells still in it. They were tiny little shells, bright blue. Frodo marveled at how small they were. _*He* must have left him. The Elf. Or gardener's boy. Whichever. Like he left all the other things…_ Frodo sat back on his heels, confused. _But how did he put it there without my hearing him ? Or any of the other presents ?_

Sam watched him find his present, and smiled. It was so easy to watch people without their knowing it, especially when you could move silently, as hobbits can. He had not intended for Frodo to see him that first time, and he was very careful now not to be seen or heard or sensed in any way. As he was small (being only four years old), this was easy for him. He had not even heard Frodo approaching, and didn't know he was there until he had called « Hey ! » for whatever Frodo's thoughts on the matter, the meadow was _not_ undiscovered. It had been a favorite place of Sam's for a long time, and it was while he was there one morning that Frodo had first come upon it. He had been at first delighted, then uncertain, and had hidden in the trees until Frodo left. 

Sam, though a sweet child, was a very shy, solitary one, who generally prefered playing by himself to being with others. Bilbo's stories were his heart's delight, and he lived with a faraway look in his eyes, thinking of heroes and Elves and dragon's gold. He had no friends save young Rosie Cotton, _an' family don't really count,_ he thought. _I just want a friend. I want *him* for my friend, 'cause I love him. Aye, I love him. Wish I knew how to tell him, though. _Every time he thought he'd worked up the courage to approach Frodo, Frodo would come to the meadow weeping, or with a confused, angry expression, and Sam would lose his nerve. Besides, it was more fun when things were secret, and gave Frodo something to think about other than his grief. But yesterday, when Frodo had run after him, he had almost let himself get caught on purpose. He was overpowered by a desire to run to Frodo when he called, to forget his shyness and uncertainty and just run to him and jump into his arms. _An' then we'll be friends, and he'll love me, yes he will, he will…_

This morning, he had been waiting at the far side of the meadow for Frodo to come, for Samwise, through his watching, discovered that even if Frodo went other places during the day, he _always_ came to the meadow. He had seen Frodo, with bloodied knees and a tear-stained face, come running into the meadow and throw himself on the ground. His sobs rent the air, and tears came to Sam's eyes. _Father, he hurts so much !_ he thought, and an idea came to him. 

He had found something that morning, beneath a bush – a little hummingbird's nest, with the eggshells still inside. He had hoped to keep it for himself – he had never had something so wonderful before – but Frodo wept and wept, and his pain shuddered through the child. He ran silently back to his hiding place, a tall laurel oak. He kept his treasures in the great hollow in the middle of the trunk. There, on the top, was his bird's nest. He picked it up, and ran quickly back to the field.

Frodo gently placed the little nest in his pack, careful not to dislodge any of the shells. Standing up, he looked around the whole meadow, his eyes straining for any sign of the boy. Samwise slipped behind a tree and stood motionless. Frodo sighed, and gave up. _I should go home. Bilbo might be worried,_ he thought. So he walked on, unaware of the great green gaze fixed upon him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Frodo got home that afternoon, it was to a very angry Bilbo. Bilbo, who had awoken to find his front door standing open and his young cousin long gone, had spent the better part of the morning searching for Frodo, until at last he asked Hamfast if he might know the boy's whereabouts. The gardener, knowing nothing of Bilbo's anxiety, had nodded.

« Yes, sir. He ran off this morning, 'round, oh – 6:30 ? A bit earlier than usual for him. He's probably wandering about somewhere over there, » he said, tilting his head in the general direction Frodo had gone. 

« Oh ? Do you know where, exactly ? » asked Bilbo.

« No, sir, not exactly, » lied the gardener, who did have a pretty fair idea as to where Frodo disappeared to every morning. Samwise had taken him there several times, on his afternoons off. But the young master had looked very upset, and Hamfast was not going to let his privacy be disturbed – not even for Bilbo. « I shouldn't worry, sir. He'll be back by this afternoon, I guarantee it. Got a good head on his shoulders, does that lad. He'll be alright. »

Bilbo sighed, and nodded. « Yes, I suppose you're right. In which case, there's no point in me worrying. Though I intend to have a long talk with that young man when he gets home. Running off like that, and not a word to his poor old cousin about where he's going… » Bilbo walked back to the house, still muttering under his breath.

« Poor lad » said Hamfast. « Hope he doesn't catch it too hot. » He shook his head and went on with his gardening.

So when Frodo got home, it was not to a warm welcome. He placed his pack on his bed and went looking for his cousin. He found him in the living room, glowering at a map.

« So there you are » said Bilbo, looking decidedly displeased. « Finally decided to grace us with your presence, eh ? »

« I'm sorry, Bilbo » said Frodo guiltily.

« Yes, and you should be, cousin ! Running off like that without even leaving a note to tell me where you are and when you'll be back ! Like a thoughtless child ! » Bilbo flared.

« I'm sorry, Bilbo, really.. I should have thought … » he began, but Bilbo cut him off.

« Yes, but you didn't. Honestly, Frodo, what got into you ? What makes you think you can just up and disappear without a reason and expect everyone to understand ? » Bilbo's temper was rising, but Frodo's reply caught him off-balance.

« From what I've heard, _cousin_, you up and disappeared for the better part of a year. Who interrogated you ? » Frodo flashed.

« Now, Frodo, » Bilbo faltered. « This isn't about me… »

« Isn't it ? » Frodo asked. « Now you're going to tell me how long you looked, and how worried you were, and why did I do this to you and you're going to demand to know where I went and when I got there and why did I go in the first place » he chanted the litany of questions at Bilbo, and the hot blood rose in his pale cheeks. « Well I won't tell you ! You can't make me ! What got into me ? ! Can't I be allowed to grieve in private ? Or did I lose that right when I lost my parents ? » he cried. He was in a fine, high temper now, and Bilbo – who never meant for it to come to this – was sincerely regretting both his former tone and his choice of words. 

He hadn't really been angry with Frodo, just worried for him. When he woke to an empty house and the front door standing wide open, he was convinced his fears had become reality. _Ilbereth ! He's done it ! He's run away ! Oh, Father, he's so young, he'll get lost, he'll get hurt, where are you, Frodo ? Where did you go ? _He searched and searched, but he didn't know where the meadow was, and so he didn't find him. His anxiety built till it was almost unbearable, and Hamfast's reassurances hadn't lessened it any. When Frodo came traipsing in, safe, sound, and in one piece, Bilbo's worry had changed to sick relief, and relief had changed to anger. _How dare he, how *dare* he ? After all the trouble he's caused me, to come in like that ! I ought to ground the boy for the rest of his natural life !_ But Frodo's response had shaken him, and he realized that his young cousin was not only angry with this treatment, but hurt and insulted as well. The fragile trust they had been building the past two months was in imminent danger of collapse, and Bilbo tried desperately to reclaim it.

« Frodo, I – I should not have said what I did. I'm sorry » he said, and he truly was. Frodo, in his defensive fury, did not care.

« Yes, and you should be, _cousin_ ! » He spat the words back at Bilbo before storming out of the room.

Bilbo sighed heavily and slumped against the wall. « Well, that certainly went well. » he muttered sarcastically. _Oh, Father, I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. There's nothing to do now but wait. Give him some time. He'll get over it. At least, I hope he will._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Don't worry, the conflict _will_ be resolved! Review, please!


	7. Beside You

****

Author Notes: Butterfly – love you, as always! I'll mail you soon, no fear! Paper Crane – thanks! I hoped I was doing alright! Don't worry, the conflict will be resolved! I like Bilbo too much for it not to be ^_^ shirebound – I'm glad you liked it! I thought it would be kind of sweet. Very Sam-like. As for jumping into Frodo's arms – well, not quite…. Read on! Morodiel – I'm sorry for killing you with the suspense! I would have updated yesterday, but I was gone all day! So I'm updating now, okay? Mish – about your review for chapter 5, thanks! Sam's other half – you remembered! Thank you so much! Frodo won't die of loneliness (merely suffer eg. But not for much longer, I promise you!) Anyway. This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but reviews are still much appreciated (hint, hint). It picks up immediately where the last one left off. Onward and upward!

Frodo grabbed his pack from his room, and left Bag End for the second time that day. Hamfast saw him run from the house with a look on his face that would have melted lead. He winced. _Oh, dear. I don't think Mr. Bilbo handled that well. _

« Master Frodo ? » he called after him.

« Leave me alone ! » Frodo yelled back without turning around. He ran back to the meadow as fast as he could – no tears this time, but a fierce, hot anger that burned in his eyes. _How could he do this to me ? I disappear for a few hours, and he treats me like a criminal ! Did he think I was going to run away ?_ Frodo's thoughts were racing. The 'thoughtless child' remark had been particularly injurious. _I thought he *trusted* me ! Thoughtless child ? I'm sixteen ! Sixteen ! I forgot, that's all, I just forgot ! It's not my fault !I'm not even in my tweens yet what on earth does he expect ? _« What does he want from me ? To tell him where I go ? To bring him _here ?_ I won't ! It's _my_ place, he has no right to it ! » Frodo's voice rose. « Child ? I'm _sixteen !_ What does he _expect ?_ For me to 'take it like a man' ? » he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. His anger surged hot and white and his eyes flamed wild. « Damn it all, _I'm not a man ! I'm sixteen ! Sixteen !_ I am _orphaned _ I am _grieved _I am _lonely _ I am _hurt I am sixteen !_ » he screamed, pounding his fist on the ground in time to his words. « He has no _right_ to treat me this way ! Sorry. I'll just _bet_ he's sorry. If he didn't mean what he said, then why did he say it ? » he asked himself, and the tears that came far too easily these days were once again in full force. 

« I thought that he, of all people, would understand ! » Frodo cried to empty meadow. His words were met only by the sound of the wind across the grass. « Nobody understands » he whispered tearfully. _I thought he did, though. I thought he was my friend I thought he liked me ! But one time - *one time* - I forget to tell him I'm leaving, and he's angry at me ! Why ? Why ? It's not my fault, I *forgot*. I just forgot, and he's angry ! I don't understand, I don't, I don't, I *don't*. I'm *sorry* I forgot, I said so. I didn't mean to make him worry, I would never do that on purpose. He took me in, he gave me a home. I like – I love him. I thought he loved me._

Suddenly, realization dawned and he hiccuped and lay still. _He does. It's the only reason he worries. He wasn't angry, he was worried ! He shouted at me because he was worried ! Not because he hates me, or is angry with me ! Because he loves me and he was worried ! _For a brief moment, his spirits rose until a new thought struck him. _Oh, *no* !_ _What am I going to do ? The things I said – what if he won't take me back ? What if he doesn't want me now ? Supposing he sends me back to Buckland ? Oh, Father ! Why did I lose my temper like that ? Oh, no oh no oh no… He probably does hate me now. He'll probably send me back to Brandy Hall. I don't want to go back I want to stay here ! I shouldn't have lost my temper, I shouldn't have said those things, I shouldn't have run out like that, he was just worried for me, I shouldn't have done all these things and I can't undo them ! Oh, Father, save me – what am I going to *do* ?_

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Samwise had been playing by himself by a creek that ran through the woods a little distance away. At the sound of Frodo's voice, he looked up, confused. _He's already been here once, _he thought. Putting down the pebbles he had been playing with, he stood up and walked quietly to the meadow. There lay Frodo, screaming out his rage in an uncontrollable fit of temper. Suddenly he stopped, and began to cry, his slim body shaking silently with his tears. Sam watched him uncertainly for a few moments, wanting more than ever to run up and tell him it would be alright, but his shyness held him back, and held him hard. He wavered there for a long moment, caught between love for this dark-haired boy and the terrible temerity that rose in him at the prospect of meeting him. _I love him. I love him an' he needs me,_ he thought, and nodded. He raised his eyes a brief moment skywards – _oh, Father, make it alright. Let him love me. Make it alright. _Then, swallowing hard, he stepped out into the field.

Sam walked swiftly and silently to where Frodo lay, and then paused. _Now what ?_ he thought. Frodo was still crying, and Sam had never dared come near when Frodo was awake. _I love him an' he needs me,_ he thought again, and closed his eyes tightly, summoning his courage. Shyness is more debilitating than most people think, and it takes great courage to overcome it. Clenching his small fists, Samwise stood there, overcoming it. _He needs me._ Carefully, he knelt, and land a small hand on Frodo's shaking shoulders. Frodo was so upset he didn't notice, and the child felt almost disappointed. _Oh, well. He still needs me._ Gently, he rubbed his hands along Frodo's back and stroked his soft dark hair, and gradually, Frodo quieted. Now, for the first time, he realized he was not alone, and he stiffened. Sam paused in mid-movement and watched him warily, but Frodo did not look up. 

_It's him ! My Elf ! It's him !_ he thought, surprised. _Right here beside me ! Ilbereth ! I didn't think he would – I thought he was so shy ! _He noticed that Sam's hands had left his back, and wondered why. _Oh. He thinks I'm awake._ Frodo rather wanted Sam to stay for a while, and so he breathed deeply and relaxed. After a few moments, he felt the small, gentle hands stroking him again and caressing him softly. There was no temerity in those hands, which had gentled him so many times before without his knowing it. _That feels good,_ Frodo thought dreamily. _I wouldn't mind if he just kept doing that…_ He forgot about Bilbo and the argument and his fears of the consequences, falling asleep once more under that soft, comforting touch. 

_He's better now, he's not crying, he'll be alright,_ thought Sam, smiling to himself. _His hair is so soft, so soft… oh, he's falling asleep again…_ The sun rose higher, the temperature climbed, and the few birds of the meadow fell silent. Kneeling on the ground, surrounded by the long grasses, and at the side of the person he loved most in the world, Sam felt strange, and secret. _It's like the world ends here, in the meadow with him. I don't mind. It seems – Elvish, almost. He seems Elvish. I love him._ And with that thought firmly in mind, Sam's long lashes fluttered and his dark green eyes drifted slowly shut. The still heat of the meadow closed over them, and they slept.

~*~*~*~*~*~*


	8. Tiger's-Eye

****

Author Notes: Hey, all! I'm back! What happened to my reviewers? Are you guys all on vacation? Excepting, of course, IloveSam, tiggivon, and my veteran readers – shirebound, Paper Crane, Mish, Morodiel, and last but definitely not least, my dear Butterfly. Thank you guys so much for reviewing, I really really really appreciate it! I love you people! Okay, you wanted more? Here's more! You want them together? Read on, my friends. Onward and upward!

When Frodo awoke, a short while later, his eyes blinked open to the sight of thick, golden hair, glossy in the sunlight. For a moment, he stared, confused, until his mind connected the image with the head to which it was attached. _Samwise !_ He sat up and looked at the child, who had fallen asleep curled next to him, his back to Frodo's side. His Elf-child's features were relaxed, peaceful, and his small mouth was slightly open as he breathed. _He's so beautiful, just so beautiful… Strange thing to say about a boy, but he is. Like one of Bilbo's Elves._ Frodo sat a moment, gazing at him, and wondering what to do. _Should I wake him ? Or would that just terrify him ? Finally, after all this time, he's here – just right here, beside me. I can't believe it. It's too perfect. How soft his hair looks, I wonder if it feels that soft…_he reached out carefully and touched Sam's hair – barely daring to at first, but then the boy didn't wake, and Frodo grew bolder. 

He ran his fingers lightly through Sam's thick gold hair, taking a lock between his finger and thumb and rubbing it back and forth, marveling at the silky feel. Sam shifted, and frowned in his sleep, and Frodo paused for a moment. He laughed quietly to himself and shook his head. _Ironic. The roles are reversed. Now who's stroking whose hair ?_ He lightly traced his forefinger around Sam's ear, pausing a moment at the point, and then down the line of his jaw. Frodo smiled as he looked at him, and felt inexplicably glad. _He'll be my friend he'll wake up and see me and we'll introduce ourselves and then he'll be my friend and he'll love me, yes he will, he will…_ All thoughts but these were vanished from his mind as he sat there, half lying-down, with a dreamy smile on his face. _My Elf-child, my pretty boy, he'll be my friend…_

Samwise stirred again and turned over, his long lashes blinking open slowly, like a cat's. He lay a few moments, staring at the sky and the purplish clouds massing in the west. He seemed to be regaining his bearings, and Frodo watched him expectantly, waiting to be noticed. The little boy yawned, and slowly sat up. He raised a hand to brush the grass from his hair, and froze. _He's awake he's awake oh Father what do I do now ?_

Frodo gave him a hesitant half-smile, and raised a hand shyly in a sort of wave. His Elf-child looked uncertain as to whether he should move, or just sit perfectly still and pray not to be noticed. _He's like the wild kittens Melilot used to catch. They'd just freeze like that. As though being still made them invisible. She had to coax them before they'd come to her, yes, to coax them… Forget it, Frodo. He's not a kitten, he's a boy, and a very intelligent one at that. Still. I suppose a *little* coaxing wouldn't hurt…_

Sam watched him warily this whole while, not daring to move. His former courage held – he was no longer shy of Frodo. But now that matters had come to a head, he was suddenly desperately uncertain. _I just sort of – expects him to be friends. But what if he don't want to be ? What if he doesn't love me ? or even like me ? Oh, no, that can't be true. I'll die if that's true. But what do I do ? Maybe I should go, now, before he can stop me – but what if he *does* want to be friends ? Then what ? If I leave, maybe this'll never happen again, an' we'll never meet eachother proper. Oh, Father, Father ! What do I do ?_ He sat there, frozen, his eyes locked on Frodo's and his mind racing. 

_What goes on behind those dark green eyes ?_ Frodo wondered. He could almost see Sam's emotions cross his face – love, trust, fear, disbelief, and an uncertain hope all mingled in the child's eyes as they stared at eachother. _Coaxing, he needs coaxing…I know !_

« Don't you leave me, » he said quickly, almost laughing at the boy's startled look. He turned, and got to his knees, rummaging through his backpack. He had found something beside a creek a few weeks ago, as he wandered through the woods. It was small, and smooth, from years of water flowing over it, and it shimmered with a peculiar golden-brown sheen. It was a tiger's-eye stone – a very rare find, indeed. _He'll like this,_ Frodo thought with satisfaction, and turned back to Sam, who was also half-kneeling and watching him curiously.

« Close your eyes, » Frodo said. Sam raised his brows, but Frodo smiled and gestured for him to close his eyes. His Elf-child eyed him skeptically for a moment before closing them. Frodo ran his tongue over his lips. _Alright, I hope this works…_

« Hold out your hand, » he said, and Sam held out a small slim hand. Gently, Frodo pressed the stone into his palm and closed his fingers over it. He sat back and crossed his own fingers for luck. Sam opened his eyes and uncurled his fingers, and Frodo grinned at his gasp of delight. Hopeful green eyes raised themselves to Frodo's blue ones.

« For me ? » he asked softly, a hesitant smile already on his lips. Frodo nodded emphatically.

« Yes, for you ! » he said, blushing for pleasure when Sam smiled back at him, a radiant, breathtaking smile. _It's just a pretty stone. He acts like I'd given him silver and diamonds. Oh, Father ! I'm so glad he likes it !_ « Do you like it ? » he asked, just to be sure. The child smiled brighter still, and looked down.

« Yes, » he answered, and raised his eyes again. « Yes, I like it. » _I like it. I love you better, though. Does this mean we're friends now ?_ His smile faded, turned thoughtful. Frodo feared he was losing him, and spoke up again.

« What're these kind called ? » he asked, hoping to draw the child out.

« Tiger-eye » Sam answered promptly. « I don't know why though. I never seen no tigers. »

Frodo smothered a laugh. « Neither have I, » he admitted. Their eyes met again, and they regarded one another for a moment before Frodo asked « So what's your name ? » He knew, of course, but felt that a proper introduction was necessary.

« Samwise, » the boy said simply. « What's yours ? »

« I'm Frodo. Baggins, that is, » Frodo answered. Sam nodded and smiled shyly back. « Are you the one who left all those things ? » Frodo asked. 

« Did you like them ? » Sam asked, his eyes brightening. « 'T were pretty things. »

« Yes. Yes, they are. And I do like them, very much so. Why'd you give them to me ? » asked Frodo curiously. Sam gave him a look so clear and direct, Frodo suddenly felt as though he were the younger of the two.

« I saw you crying. In t' meadow, here, » he said, gesturing round them with a wave of his hand. « And I wanted – I wanted to make you smile. S' all. Just to make you smile. T'were pretty things, » he said again. Frodo smiled at him.

« Yes, they were. And are. I wanted to thank you for them before, but you always ran away. Why didn't you just give them to me in person ? » he asked, and bit his lip as soon as he said it. The child blushed darkly and looked away, no traces of a smile now on his face. 

« Never mind, » Frodo said quickly. _Oh, Ilbereth, I've done it. I've gone and lost him. And everything was going so perfectly, too ! _There was a pause, and Frodo cringed internally. _Please still want to be my friend, please I promise not to ask again…_

« I – I would've, » Sam said suddenly. « But I didn't – I didn't know… »

« Know what ? » asked Frodo, curious. The boy blushed even more deeply and seemed so uncomfortable that Frodo unconsciously reached out and picked him up. Many was the cousin at Brandy Hall he had comforted in a similar way, and he just didn't think about it as he lifted Sam's slight weight into his lap. The boy stiffened and sat very still, looking at Frodo warily. « Know what ? » Frodo asked again, trying to break the silence. _Damn you, Frodo Baggins, you've done it again ! Even worse, this time ! Asking him questions he doesn't want to answer and then picking him up like that ! He's not your cousin, idiot ! Sorry ! Sorry, sorry, sorry. I just wanted to know. Anyway, I can't undo it._

« Whether… » Sam trailed off.

« Yes ? » 

« Whether you – whether you wanted to – »

« Wanted to …? » Frodo coaxed.

« To be friends ! » the child burst out, and his cheeks flushed so red he looked positively ill. Frodo was surprised at the statement.

« Of course I want to be friends ! » he said. Sam gave him a sidelong glance that eloquently bespoke his disbelief. « No, really, Samwise ! »

« No, you don't, » the boy mumbled.

« But I do ! » Frodo protested.

« Why ? » Sam asked. « Why should you want to be friends with me ? » Frodo shook his head, confused. _Strange question for a four year-old to ask._

« Because I like you, » he answered. Sam's green eyes widened with hope and surprise.

« Really ? » he asked. 

« Yes, really ! » Frodo said. « Why shouldn't I like you ? »

Sam paused. « I ain't never had a friend before, » he said softly, and Frodo raised his brows. _That's hard to believe,_ he thought, but one look at the loneliness in those dark green eyes convinced him it was true. 

« Oh, little one… » he murmured, and held the boy closer. Sam relaxed a little and let Frodo stroke his hair. « Well, I'll be your friend, » he said. Sam looked up.

« Really ? » he asked.

« Yes, really. Promise, » Frodo said, and made a cross in the air over his heart. « See ? Cross my heart. »

« You'll be my first, » Sam said, still a little uncertain.

« I'll be your best, » Frodo said. _Why did I say that ? He's twelve years my junior ! How could someone twelve years younger than me be my best friend ?_ He looked down at the child on his lap, who was looking up at him with wonder and uncertain joy. A strange, warm feeling surged in his breast – the way he had felt that rainy day at the Gamgee's house, when he had glimpsed Sam through the open door. _Because I love him, that's how. I don't understand it, but I do. I love him. He'll be my friend._ He shook his head again in wonderment. « I'll be your best, » he repeated, and laughed for joy when Sam threw his small arms about his neck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: No, this is _not_ the end of the story! Storm clouds are massing in the west, Frodo and Bilbo have to reconcile, and Sam – well, you'll see ^_^ Review, review, review! Thank you! All of you! You're the greatest!


	9. Summer Lightning

****

Author Notes: Hee, hee, hee. Made you wait another day! Well, not intentionally. We had houseguests. Anyway, I'm back! To my reviewers – PerK Asahikawa – cool! You picture Sam this way too? And I thought I stood alone… I really hope he doesn't remind you of Gollum *frowns* Maybe I should rephrase what he says… Liete – I'm glad you like it! It's apparently not the way most people pictured it, but it's _my_ way. O_O tiggivon – aww, thanks! I'm glad it moved you. ^_^ Trilliah – you give the absolute best reviews, hands down. *showers praise, flowers, kisses, and confetti upon you*. IloveSam - g So do I, could you tell? I'm so glad you like it! LilyBaggins – thanks, I was working on that! Morodiel – well, you're a veteran reader now g. Here's another chapter for you to cogitate upon. shirebound – actually, I've seen it spelled both ways. If it really bugs you, I can edit it so it's spelled 'Elbereth'. I wouldn't mind ^_^ As for saving the best for last – my darling Butterfly. Thank you so much for reviewing all my stuff and being my friend! You are the greatest! Je t'aime! Okay, as for this chapter, it's longer (much longer) than most of the others, but please bear with me. I stole Sam's thoughts in Ithilien and put them into Frodo's mind (bit of shameless Sam worship, and yet I wonder… There is indeed more to that boy than meets the untrained eye. Besides, I'm sick of Frodo getting all the credit for everything. He's probably sick of it, too. I mean, the guy _loves_ Sam, so naturally he would like Sam to get some praise. So for my sake and Frodo's, _Sam_ is getting some time in the sun. Go Sam!) Onward and upward, mes amis!

Tick, tick, tick, tick. The clock on the mantelpiece clicked incessantly. Bilbo tapped his pen against the table in time to the sound. _Tick, tick, tick, tick._ He sighed, and looked out the window again. Three hours had passed since Frodo stormed out of the house, and Bilbo had seen no sign of him. His original idea was to let Frodo cool off and come back on his own. Then he, Bilbo, would apologize and express his extreme regret that he had _ever_ lost his temper like that, that he hadn't meant any of the things he'd said, and that he promised never to say them again. _I love the boy,_ he thought. _I was just worried for him. Silly way to express worry – by getting angry. And I'm so sorry I got angry. I wonder if he'll want to come back now ? Probably not,_ Bilbo thought glumly._ The things I said and the look he gave me… He'll probably want to go back to Brandy Hall._ He felt miserable at the very thought. _It's too quiet without him here, too lonely. I've … gotten used to him. Oh, Father, let him come back ! I love him dearly. I don't want him to leave. _

He sighed, and turned back to his book. He had been attempting to write the account of his stay in Rivendell, but when he got to the rather necessary part of describing the Elves, he found that all he could think of were Frodo and Samwise. The gardener's boy had known Bilbo all his short life, and many an afternoon he had spent seated on Bilbo's lap, his eyes glassy and distant while Bilbo told him tales of Dwarves and dragons and Men and war. But, true to his Fallohide blood, his favorite stories of all were those of the Elves. Being – to Bilbo's mind – more than a bit Elvish himself, he had consigned to memory a pretty fair bit of Elvish myth and legend at the tender age of four. He had a powerful desire to meet the Elves, and an almost Tookish wanderlust. Though at four years old, it is hard to determine exactly what one's life will be like, Bilbo was fairly certain that Sam would have adventures. This opinion was solidly backed by Gandalf, who refused to say anything but « That boy's too curious not to. »

Frodo, too, had an Elvish air – strange, quiet. Distant. As though his mind was somewhere else, and any recall to reality was a rude interruption. He liked Bilbo's stories well enough, but he much preferred thinking about them afterwards than the actual reading of them. He would dream up fantastical endings to them terrible shadow-creatures, epic battles, great heroes, bloody death, victories glorious and hollow, and most of all, the tragic sacrifice of love. To die for love was, in Frodo's mind, the noblest way to die. He daydreamed about it often, and his blue eyes were dark and distant. 

So as Bilbo sat there, trying to come up with words to describe the beauty of Rivendell and its inhabitants, he saw only the two boys he had come to love so well. _The Elves of Rivendell are green-eyed – no, blue-eyed - no ! … their soft dark hair is – no, golden locks are – oh, I give up._ He sighed heavily in frustration and pushed the book away. Looking out the window again, he saw the blue-black clouds advancing swiftly on the horizon. The double-anvils on the thunderheads did not bode well for the afternoon's weather. _Oh, dear. As if I didn't have enough to worry about. Frodo-lad, come home before the storm breaks ! I don't know where to look for you._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam didn't talk much, Frodo discovered. Even now, when they were friends. He sat in Frodo's lap, his arms around Frodo's neck, and seemed perfectly content just to sit there and listen. He was a very good listener, Frodo learned quiet, attentive, polite, but above all, _understanding._ Without saying a word, he managed to convey perfect empathy, and Frodo found himself pouring out his sorrows to the child in his lap. Everything came out – the accident, the aftershock, the terrible uncertainty, the nightmares, the loneliness, the grief. How he loved Bilbo, and loved Sam's family how he hated being questioned or pitied how much the whispers behind his back hurt him, and how he wanted just to stop them all from talking about him.

All of it just tumbled from his lips, words tripping over one another in their haste to be spoken, and his Elf-child listened. He hadn't asked, but Frodo was answering, and so he listened patiently. Sam sensed that Frodo was explaining things more to himself than he was to Sam, and he didn't interrupt the rapid flow of words as Frodo told him of how he had found the meadow, and the many times he had come there, and why he came each time. Frodo talked and talked, and things he had been previously unaware of thinking or feeling rose from the dark corners of his soul and spoke themselves. And all this while, Sam listened.

Finally, Frodo reached an end. He had talked himself empty, and had no more words so he sat there, rather breathless and completely speechless. Sam took his arm from Frodo's neck and laid a small hand on Frodo's cheek. Startled, Frodo looked at him, and the simple compassion he found in that young face almost reduced him to tears. There was no pity in Sam's glance, only sorrow, and a deep understanding that far surpassed his years. It seemed to Frodo that, in that instant, all the wisdom of the world shone in those dark green eyes. He stared at Samwise wonderingly, and almost afraid.

« Little one ? » he said warily, taking Sam's hand from his cheek and holding it between his own. Sam blinked and smiled. The moment passed, and he was a four year-old boy again, seated in his best friend's lap listening to him talk.

« Nothing, » he said, and got up, pulling Frodo after him.

« Are we going somewhere ? » Frodo asked. Sam nodded, but said nothing. Frodo followed curiously as Sam led him out of the meadow and into the trees. They walked a ways, Sam never hesitating as they made various twists and turns, ducking under branches and skirting the ever-thickening brambles. 

« Sam ? Where are we going ? » Frodo asked again. 

« You'll see, » Sam said, smiling secretly.

« Sam ! Where ? » he asked. The teasing silvery giggle met his ears, but Sam said nothing. He grasped Frodo's hand tighter in his little one, and walked on. The long grass was tough and knotted in the clearings, and the trees grew closer and closer together.

« Ah ! » Frodo cried softly. A thin line of blood welled up on the back of his hand where a rather vicious-looking thorn had scratched him. Sam whirled round at the sound of his voice, and looked alarmed at the sight of blood, before realizing it was only a scratch. He gave Frodo a sidelong glance that bordered on amusement, and Frodo felt rather ridiculous. _It's only a scratch. Get over it._

« Well ? » he asked irritably. 

« We're almost there, » Sam said patiently. For a moment, Frodo considered being short-tempered and refusing to go any further. Then he looked down at the boy, who looked back up at him expectantly. Frodo relented, smiled, and gestured that they should continue. Still, the briars grew thicker and the trees, closer. Just when Frodo was absolutely certain they should have to turn back, Sam stopped.

« This way, » he whispered, and disappeared round a corner. Frodo followed, more curious than ever, and saw Sam climb a slender yew. _What on earth… ?_ Sam stood carefully and walked along a branch overhanging the brambles. Frodo held his breath. _Ilbereth ! He's going to fall, he's going to fall, I just know it, to fall and land in those thorns… _he bit his lip and watched anxiously. 

Sam's cat-like grace never faltered as he walked lightly across the branch. He knelt, and gripped the end of the branch, pausing a moment to raise his hand and gesture that Frodo should follow. Then he swung down and disappeared behind the high wall of thorns. Frodo hesitated, very unwilling to climb _any_ tree that stood so close to such long thorns. _But I have to follow him. He might get hurt if he's alone, and I don't want him hurt._ He screwed up his courage and climbed the tree. 

Unlike Sam, he neither stood nor walked. He gripped the branch tightly, barely daring to open his eyes, and crept along inch by inch. _Open your eyes, you idiot, or you'll creep right off and land in the briars._ He followed his advice, and opened his eyes to the sight of extremely long thorns a few feet below. He immediately closed them again, and clinging to the branch for dear life, crept another foot with eyes completely closed. _Open your eyes !_ he screamed mentally to himself. He swallowed hard, and opened them. Now there was grass beneath him instead of thorns, and a few inches further he saw a smooth patch, worn into the bark through years of gripping. Carefully, he moved forward until his hands were gripping the patch. Then he swung himself down to earth as easily – if not as gracefully – as his Elf-child.

_What's so special about this place ?_ Frodo wondered. The long, tough grass grew here, as on the other side of the brambles, and the trees were as close. _We could've seen the same by staying on the other side and I wouldn't have had to climb that tree. Where's Sam ?_ He looked around, but Samwise was nowhere to be found. « Sam ? » he called. _Botheration. He's disappeared. Well, I can't go back, so might as well go forward._ He pushed through the long grass and edged around the trees. « Sam ? » he called again. « Sam, where are y – »

Frodo broke off as he stepped into a clearing. It wasn't terribly large – about as large as the meadow – but it seemed to be a universe unto itself. The branches of the taller trees were interwoven, forming a canopy over the glen. The shade of the trees had been close and dark, but now the sun gleamed strongly through the leaves, diffusing their darkness into a veil of golden-green light. Strange mosses hung from the branches, and little pale blue flowers grew at their feet. 

In the center of the clearing was a large, almost perfectly circular pond, whose dark green waters lay smooth as glass. At the far side of the pond stood a white upthrust of quartz, stretching up and out over the water. There stood his Elf-child, looking more Elven than ever standing on the edge of the rock, looking upwards so slender a child, clad in white, and in the strange light his eyes gleamed emerald. He stood perfectly still, his eyes upraised as though in prayer, and everywhere there was a perfect, unbroken silence.

Frodo felt as though he had intruded on something secret, and holy. He stood beneath the trees at the edge of the glen, watching, not daring to break the silence lest it break the spell of this strange, timeless place. _It's like I've walked in on an Elven song,_ he thought. Suddenly, Sam turned to him and smiled not the mischievous smile of a four year-old boy, but the gracious smile of a prince in his domain. Then, just as suddenly, the smile changed, and he was little Samwise again, pleased to show his best friend something pretty. Frodo, however, never forgot the look on his face as he had stood there in the silence, and felt very strange. _This child is not what he seems to be, and yet he is what he is. There is no guile in him he isn't the kind to deceive. But it's like – like he only shows part of himself most of the time. And then sometimes, he just – shines through. Like light dancing through the leaves overhead, he just – shines. Oh, Father, how I love him…_

« Frodo ? » came the soft call. Sam had gotten off his rock and was walking towards him.

« S-Sam, » Frodo stammered, and the boy ran over. Frodo quickly dropped to one knee and held out his arms, almost falling over with the impact. « Careful, little one, » he whispered as he hefted Sam up, settling his slight weight on his hip. Sam put his arms round Frodo's neck again.

« Sam, what is this place ? » Sam smiled and shrugged.

« I don't know as it has a proper name. It's just the glen, the way the meadow's just the meadow. It don't need a name. 'Sides, I'm the only one who comes here. »

« Really ? » Frodo asked. Sam nodded.

« Mhm. It's my place. I never seen no one else come, anyway. D'you like it ? It's a pretty place, 'specially on days like this when the sun shines so bright. Makes everything gold-green. Why're we whispering ? » he whispered. Frodo paused a moment before answering.

« Because – because it seems right » he whispered back. « It would be – well, disrespectful not to, I think. » Sam considered this, and nodded.

« It's a better place for singing, though, » he said. « So quiet an' beautiful. It's like being in a story. » Frodo nodded his agreement.

« Yes, it does seem a place for singing, » he said. « If one could find the words. » Sam looked at him expectantly, and he smiled. « How about this ? » he asked, and, after humming a tune to sing to, raised his voice.

__

The starlight shines on forest pools

that lie among the trees,

the rivers glitter in the night,

flowing towards the Sea.

On empty roads and lonely fields

the moonshine softly falls,

and silver light gleams strong and bright

on ancient tower walls.

Thither, thither, will I go,

and wander far from home

to climb the tower walls, to feel 

the cold and age-worn stone.

On ruined stairs and crumbling halls

the starlight casts its sheen,

the whispers of the wind are heard

like voices in a dream.

Thither, thither, will I go,

and mount the ruined stair,

to weave myself a crown of stars

and set it in my hair.

I will proclaim myself a king

and, clothed in silver light,

of my kingdom I will sing - 

of wild and lonely Night,

Of slumbering homes and empty roads,

of ruined stairs and halls,

of quiet fields and forest pools,

of ancient tower walls,

Of rivers and the Sea, I sing,

and clad in silver-fair,

barefoot in the night, I'll dance

With starlight in my hair.

His clear young voice chimed softly in the silence, and the sound of his singing lingered a long moment before the hush closed over them again. Sam watched him as he sang, his blue eyes strange and distant, as though his whole thought were focused on the singing. _Father, save me, but he's beautiful,_ he thought. _Like an Elf. Better than an Elf. I love him._ He tightened his arms around Frodo's neck and pressed closer to him. Frodo felt him shifting and looked at him, broken out of his trance. « Well ? » he whispered.

« I think you're beautiful, » Sam whispered back, suddenly bold. _I love him, I love him forever, an' I don't care if he thinks it strange to be called beautiful because he *is*. He's beautiful and I love him. Always._ Frodo read all this in his dark green glance, and blushed.

« Well – thank you, » he murmured, and smiled, tightening his own arms around the child. He stood thus for a long moment, Samwise balanced on his hip as they overlooked the glen. A sudden darkening of the sky made them both look up, confused, but the canopy of branches obstructed their view of the sky. Then a loud 'crack !' of thunder stung their ears, and they realized why the sky had darkened.

« 'S that storm from the west, » Sam said. « The one that was building earlier. It's here. »

« I need to get you home, then, » Frodo said. « How do we get out of here ? Don't tell me we climb that tree again. » Sam smothered a laugh at Frodo's look of apprehension.

« No, » he reassured him. « There's a different way out. But you're going to have to put me down. »

Frodo reluctantly set Sam on his feet and followed the child out of the glen. They went across to the far side of the pond and entered the trees again. The thunder rumbled ominously overhead, and Sam picked up the pace, leading them out of the trees and through more thick, tussocky grass. It was hard to move quickly through the grass, and they stumbled. The briars enclosing the field went on and on, until suddenly, there was a break in them.

« Over here, » Sam said, pulling on Frodo's hand. They walked through some more of the long, knotted grass until it finally gave way to a shorter, softer species. They continued walking till they came to a small creek. Sam paused a moment before turning left, and they walked on. It was getting darker by the minute, and the clean blue of the sky now looked bruised, and blackened. A sudden blinding flash of light made them break into a run, Frodo still holding Sam's hand as they dodged through the trees. It felt strangely like their chase of the previous day, but their was nothing fun about this. Frodo was remembering every terrible story he'd ever heard about lightning. _Lightning strikes near water_ – the creek._ Lightning strikes near tall trees –_ they were surrounded by them. Oh, what about _Lightning can kill you instantly ?_ _There's a cheerful thought._

Sam tripped over something, almost pulling Frodo down with him, but he immediately got up again and they continued running. _It's like being hunted,_ Frodo thought as a deafening clap of thunder sounded overhead. _We have to get out of here, we have to get out – oh, no, he's limping !_ Frodo paused and grabbed Sam up, before running on himself. 

« Just go straight, » Sam instructed. _Straight. Right. I can go straight…_ Another flash of lightening, and Frodo ran like the wind, heedless of stumbling, heedless of thunder, heedless of anything but the very real need to get Sam and himself away. Just when he thought he could bear it no longer, that they must surely die here in the trees, struck down by lightning, he burst into – the meadow. _Our meadow ! Our meadow ! I can't believe it !_ He ran to the center, far away from the trees, and sat down heavily, Sam still in his arms.

« Just need to catch my breath, » he said, and Sam nodded. « Let's take a look at your foot, » Frodo said, remembering his limp. « Which one was it ? » Sam winced and held up his small right foot, and Frodo's eyes widened in alarm. Sam had apparently sprained his ankle, which had swollen and was beginning to turn colors. To make matters worse, he had cut the bottom of his foot on a sharp rock, which was now embedded in the sole. When he raised his foot for Frodo's examination, blood spilled bright red down his leg and pooled in Frodo's hand. _Oh no, oh no, this isn't good. He can't walk now, he's badly hurt, his ankle might be broken…_ He turned his gaze from the injured limb to the child in his lap. Sam had gone very pale when Frodo touched his ankle, and Frodo saw he was trying his hardest not to cry. Gently, he lowered Sam's leg into his lap again, and gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

« Don't worry, Sam, » he said bravely. « We'll put you to rights. » _Oh, Father. I certainly hope we will. I hope we can._ Again, the hot white light flashed in the sky, and a cold hard rain began to fall.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Okay, so it was kind of a _lot_ longer than most of my other chapters… Please – if you read it, review it! Thanks so much! Je vous aime toujours! 


	10. Storm and Searching

****

Author Notes: Sorry, I would've uploaded this yesterday, but never had the time. ^_^ All my new reviewers – hi! I'm glad you found this fic, glad you read it, and most of all, glad you reviewed it! Thank you so much! PerK- here's the next installment, so you don't have to be patient anymore. Tigrin – thanks for reading! And for reviewing! glad you like it so much ^_^ My veteran readers (yes, Morodiel, this includes you ^_^) – you guys – and I've said it before – you guys are the absolute greatest! You make me feel so good! Love you all! Morodiel – actuellment, ton français est très bon! Je le comprends bien! Mish – hey, thanks for reviewing this last chapter twice! So cool of you! Don't worry, Frodo loves Sam. He'll get him taken care of. IloveSam – me too ^_^ Yes, I did write that song! Glad you like it! Actually, I started out with just the song and sort of built the story around that. tiggivon – hi again! Yeah, the glen reminds me of a place I've been to several times (personally, I based it on a place in the Jemez Mountains that really looks like my description. I just translocated it to Middle-earth and made it my darling Sam's special place). And Butterfly, always the best – need I say more? ^_^ Onward and upward, mes amis!

« Bell, lass ? »

« Hmmm ? »

« Bell, have you seen Samwise ? » Hamfast asked. Bell looked up from her weaving, suddenly concerned.

« No… Not for a while » she answered slowly. Then thunder rumbled overhead, and they frowned at eachother.

« S' that storm from the west, » Hamfast said. Bell stood quickly and joined him at the window. 

« Oh, dear, » she murmured. Their eyes widened as lightning streaked across the sky, and they turned to one another, alarmed. 

« I need to get him home, » said Hamfast. « And quick. »

« D'you know where he is ? » Bell asked. Her husband shook his head.

« Never can tell where he'll go, » he said, walking for the front door.

« Wait ! Your cloak, » she said, handing it to him. He shrugged it on and smiled at her.

« Not to worry, lass. I'll find him, » he assured her. 

« I should come with you, » said Bell, but he shook his head.

« Stay here in case he comes back before I do, » he said, and kissed her farewell. She stood in the doorway for a long moment looking after him, and bit her lip as another shiver of thunder shook the air. _Sam, love, where are you ?_

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bilbo had completely given up on writing his book for the afternoon, and all other attempts to occupy himself failed miserably. _Frodo, cousin, where *are* you ? You've been gone for four hours ! Oh, come back, please just come back… If I go looking for him, he'll think I don't trust him, and that's the *last* thing I need after this afternoon. But if I don't go looking for him – what if he's hurt ? What if he needs help ? And I'm just standing here doing nothing while he suffers? Oh, Bilbo, forget it. He's sixteen, not three. He can take care of himself. Besides, he'd probably get even angrier if I came after him. The boy just needs some time to himself, is all. _Bilbo nodded, but wasn't convinced. _What if he doesn't come home at all ?_ a little voice in his mind whispered. _What if he runs away ? – Oh, shut up !_ Bilbo countered. 

« If he doesn't come back within the hour, then I'll go to the Gamgees and see if he's with them. He probably is. They've unofficially adopted him, anyway. But I'll wait the hour out. » - _What about the storm ? – Storm ? What sto - _ crash ! the thunder sounded, and Bilbo whirled around, startled. _Oh, the storm. Well…_ and he hesitated. _He's sixteen. He can take care of himself. If he won't come to me, he'll go to the Gamgees, I'm certain. They'll take care of him, and I will wait this hour out. That's all there is to it. I will wait it out, and *then* go looking for him._ White radiance filled the room for a split second, and was gone. _Lighting ! Maybe I should – no. I am going to wait. I am going to wait. I am going to wait,_ he told himself sternly, and sat down heavily in his chair. In an instant, he was up pacing again. _I am going to wait, even if it's the longest hour of my life. As it's quickly proving itself to be._ Then the rain began to fall, and fall hard. In a few minutes, it was pouring. _That's it. I don't care what he thinks, I've got to find him or I shall go completely mad._ He grabbed his cloak from the hall closet and walked out the front door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The rain was icy cold and it stung their skin as the sudden winds drove it against them. _Alright. Alright. I can cope, we can deal with this, _Frodo thought, trying to be rational. He squinted up at the sky and saw only huge, dark clouds. He looked to the horizon and saw more. Lightning flashed again, and the wind picked up._ I knew summer storms were unpredictable, but good grief ! It's August and it feels like November !_ He looked down at Samwise, who was looking back up at him expectantly, one hand raised to shield his eyes. 

His glance flicked down to where Sam's small foot rested against his leg. A dark stain was growing on Frodo's breeches where the wounded foot bled into the fabric, and Sam's sprained ankle was beginning to exhibit some rather spectacular bruises. _That ankle looks broken, not sprained, _Frodo thought worriedly. _I can't believe he's not crying. I would be screaming fit to burst. _The rainshower was turning into a downpour, and Frodo's jaw shook as he tried to keep his teeth from chattering. _I need to get him out of this rain,_ he thought, looking to Sam again. 

« Well, Sam, » he began. « You definitely can't walk. » Sam shook his head. « I thought not, » said Frodo. _At least he's not heavy._ « And you need help. I think your ankle's broken. » Sam bit his lip.

« What're we goin' to do, then ? » he asked softly, so softly Frodo almost didn't hear him over the rain. He raised his own voice in response.

« I need to get you out of this rain, for starters, » he said. « So I'm going to have to get up. Alright ? » Sam looked at him uncertainly.

« Alright, » he said.

« I'm going to have to move your leg to pick you up. Can you do that for me ? » asked Frodo carefully. Sam hesitated, then nodded. _Well, here goes nothing,_ Frodo thought. « Alright, then. One, two, three… » As quickly and carefully as he could, he lifted Sam up again, wincing at the child's sharp intake of breath. He looked down. Sam lay in his arms, his eyes tightly closed and his small fists clenched against the pain. « I'm sorry, » Frodo whispered. Sam gradually relaxed as the pain receded, and opened his eyes. 

« S' alright, » he said weakly, putting his arms round Frodo's neck. The thunder crashed again so loud they could feel the vibrations in the air. As if on cue, the downpour became a deluge. Rain fell so thick and fast, Frodo could hardly see five feet in front of him. Sam whined low in his throat as the heavy rain pounded against his exposed ankle, and bit back a scream when Frodo shifted his arm to protect it. Frodo froze, and slowly moved his arm back to where it was. 

« Sorry, » he said again. Sam swallowed hard and nodded. « Look, Sam – we're going to have to go back under the trees. » Sam stared at him.

« But the lightning – » he said.

« I know, » Frodo answered. « But it's not our choice. We need a shelter of some sort, and home is too far away for either of us, so it'll have to be the trees. » Sam's thoughts raced for a moment as he weighed the possibilities. _Lightning could hit us, but we've got to get out of the rain, the meadow might flood, an' we need to get to higher ground. Father, my ankle hurts so badly !_ He nodded again. Frodo hugged him close a moment before beginning the normally gentle and now suddenly arduous ascent out of the meadow.

It took forever, it seemed, just to move the short distance to the trees. The rain fell relentlessly, and turning back, Frodo could see the meadow filling like a pond. _Faster, I have to go faster._ He slipped on the long, wet grass that twined itself about his feet, and fell hard to the ground. By throwing his weight sideways as he fell, he managed to avoid landing on Sam, but the boy cried out in pain. _Sorry, sorry, sorry…_ He struggled to his feet, Sam still in his arms.

« Are you alright ? » he shouted above the noise of the storm. Sam shook his head. « Perfect, just perfect, » Frodo muttered under his breath. _I find you, befriend you, and now I prove my love for you by practically falling on top of you. Good grief._ « Don't worry, little one, » he reassured. « We're almost there. » _We have to be. I've been struggling up this slope for twenty minutes. We *have* to be near the trees. And I'll lie to you if we aren't, because I can't bear the pain in your eyes much longer._ Frodo gritted his teeth and struggled onward.

_At last ! At last !_ he cried in his mind as the dark line of trees came into sight behind the veil of rain. Now that the ground was level, he was free to move faster. Sam had laid his head on Frodo's shoulder, and Frodo felt his small hands clenching and unclenching as the pain jolted through him. _We've got to stop, got to sit down. Here…_he walked a short ways under the trees, until they came to a huge, tall ash, whose overhanging branches guarded them somewhat against the rain. _Perfect target for lighting,_ Frodo thought grimly, as the white light crackled against the dark clouds. _Alright, so *this* shelter's no good…_

Sam suddenly spoke up – if you could call the strained whisper of his voice 'speaking up'. He was sick with pain, and being cold only made it worse. He knew what Frodo was thinking, and thought he could provide a solution. « Frodo ? » he said softly. Frodo looked down at him. « Hmmm ? » he asked, bending his head closer to the boy, to hear him better.

« If you go north from here a ways, you'll see a great tall oak tree, an' if you turns left at the oak tree an' walks a bit, there's a sort of – of overhang, made by the hillside » he said, pausing in his explanations as pain streaked through him again.

« An overhang ? » Frodo asked, his voice still raised against the storm. Sam nodded. _An overhang,_ the quiet voice said in Frodo's mind. He was startled and vaguely afraid, but decided it was his memory repeating it for him. _Alright, then. I'll go for this overhang of yours,_ he thought, more than a little uneasy when Sam nodded as though he had spoken aloud. He shook his own head, and started walking.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Left you hanging *grins evilly*. Sorry about that, I'll fix it ASAP.


	11. Cross My Heart

****

Author Notes: Mistress Samwise – I am truly honored. Really truly. That's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. *sniff* Aww, damn. Hand me some of your Kleenex! Trilliah - I'm so sorry! I _know_ I'm evil, but trust me, I don't mean to be! Please still like me? Please? Liete – Sam and Frodo-ish describes it perfectly ^_^ Paper Crane – that's alright, you're back! yeah, I wanted to explain where he went off to. Glad you liked the description! Mish – ah, you are wise, my friend. Other halves don't need a physical voice to communicate. Take identical twins, for example. But Sam and Frodo are better than identical twins, of course ^_^ Does that explain it, Trilliah? Their being eachother's soulmates? Hope so! Aww, poor Morodiel… Here, have another chapter. tiggivon – can't wait? Neither can anyone else! So here you are! And my darling Butterfly – you are the best, and that's all there is to it. Love ya ^_^ If the thought-reading stuff weirds you out, think of the bond between identical twins (I have cousins who are identical twins. Trust me, this stuff is not made up.) So, read on, my friends!

« Samwise ? Sam, son, where are you ? » Hamfast shouted into the wind. He had searched the areas close by their smial, but no sign. The storm worsened, and a chill rain began to fall. _Sam, where are you ? I need to get you home._ He began walking towards the woods where Sam usually played, when he heard a call.

« Hamfast ? Hamfast ! » He turned round, confused. _Who the… ?_

« Master Bilbo ! » he cried. « Sir, what're you doing out in this weather ? » Bilbo ran down the road and pulled up short beside him, somewhat breathless.

« Frodo ? Have you seen him ? » he asked. The gardener shook his head.

« Not since early afternoon, » he said. « Why ? » Bilbo hesitated.

« We – had a falling out, of sorts and – he hasn't… come back, yet, » he explained. Hamfast's eyes widened.

« You mean to tell me he's out in this weather ? » he asked, forgetting his 'place' at the thought of the young master out in the wind and rain. Bilbo nodded, looking guilty. 

« I was hoping he was with you and Bell, » he said. « But I take it that's not so. » Hamfast shook his head.

« No, sir. I've not seen him since he left. » Bilbo's eyes darkened with worry. 

« D'you have any idea where he might be ? » he asked. « Any at all ? »

The gardener thought a moment. « Well, sir… he and my Samwise have been making friends these past weeks. They might be together, » he suggested. Bilbo looked at him hopefully.

« Really ? You think so ? Do you know where Sam is ? » he asked urgently. 

« No, sir, » said Hamfast, and now he looked worried. « I've seen nought of him since this morning. I just came out to look for him. »

« Alright, then, » said Bilbo. « We'll look together. The looking'll go faster that way. »

« I reckon so, sir. » The rain drenched their clothing and ran into their eyes as they stood there, and Bilbo clapped his gardener on the shoulder.

« Well, then, we'd best start looking. » They walked off towards the woods.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Though the branches of the trees protected them from the rain, they also blocked what little light the sky had to offer. Frodo's eyes strained to see through the rain and the darkness, occasional flashes of lightning guiding his way. _And to think a short while ago I feared both lightning and trees !_ he thought, and shook his head. _Aye, but now they're helping us,_ the soft voice whispered. Frodo jumped, a little startled, but less so than the first time. _This is very strange,_ he decided. _Very, very, *very* strange. But it doesn't feel wrong._ He shook his head again. _Lost in the dark and the rain and the wind, with an injured Elfling in my arms who's speaking in my head. This has been the longest day of my life._

Looking forward and squinting against the rain that dripped into his eyes, he saw no sign of Sam's oak tree. _I thought he said it was there ! ~ It is. Go further,_ the child said in his mind. Frodo turned his gaze downwards to the dark green eyes that regarded him wearily. Sam's pretty young face was bone-white with pain, and his fingers twisted the sodden cloth of Frodo's cloak in a white-knuckle grip. _I've got to get him some help he's really hurt. Where's that wretched oak ? _Ragged lightning tore the sky again, and illuminated briefly the dark silhouette of a huge, tall tree. _That's it !_ _Alright, you. I don't know how you hear me, but I know you do, so hold on._ Sam nodded, and tightened his grip.

Frodo took a deep breath and began to run, his eyes never leaving the dim shadowed outline of the tree that the lightning had revealed to him. _Father, whatever You do, don't let me trip. I swear I'll never ask anything of You ever again, but don't let me trip. I can't bear to hurt him._ Somewhere, somehow, his prayer was heard and though the ground was slick with water and tree roots lay treacherously in his path, his feet never faltered. Clinging desperately to the boy in his arms, he made it to the tree. _Now where ?_ he asked. _Left,_ came the answer. Frodo was still very uncomfortable at hearing someone else's thoughts, but it saved time, energy, and breath, so he dismissed his discomfort. _I'll worry about it later._

_Left. Alright…_ he turned left. _How far left ? ~ Just go straight._ The reply was faint, and glancing at Samwise, Frodo saw the child's eyes were tightly closed and he was biting down hard on his lower lip. He paused and pressed his forehead to Sam's. « Hey, » he whispered. « Are you alright ? » Sam opened his eyes slowly, and the look in them sent a surge of pain shooting through Frodo's leg. « Ah ! » he cried, looking at Sam with a mixture of empathy, anger, and fear. _How did you do that ?_ he asked angrily. _Sorry, _Sam whispered. _Didn't mean to – to hurt you…it just – just – happened – _he screamed in his throat and a dark line of blood welled from his lower lip and ran down his chin. Frodo felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him, and staggered. « It's alright, it's alright, » he soothed, his breath coming fast. _This is too strange, this is just too strange – Shhh, little one, it's alright. I'll get you out of here._ No answer came but a vivid flash of red and black in his mind's eye. _Never thought I'd know what pain looked like. Guess I do now._ He hugged Sam close and kissed his brow. _Straight, you said…_

~*~*~*~*~*~*

« I can't see _anything !_ » Bilbo shouted as the rain fell in stinging sheets from the sky. 

« Neither can I, » Hamfast shouted back. « But we've got to keep looking. »

« I know, » Bilbo yelled. _I'm going to lose my voice, yelling like this._ « Where else could they be ? » They had searched around Bag End, they had searched in the woods near Bag End, they had searched in all the fields they could think of. Now there was only the meadow. _Well,_ thought Hamfast, _at the risk of breaking a promise to my son, I'm goin' to have to show Master Bilbo._

« There's one other place, » he shouted. « But if they're not there – » He shrugged. Bilbo nodded.

« Alright, then. Let's go. » 

They slogged their way up the hillside and through the trees again. _Let me see if I can remember… ah, yes._ « This way ! » Hamfast yelled. A deafening boom of thunder made them both duck and cover their ears, and they crouched a long moment, waiting for the sound to dissipate. They slowly got up again. « This way, » the gardener repeated, gesturing in the direction they should go. They walked shoulder to shoulder through the trees until they came to the edge of the meadow. 

« Oh, _no !_ » they cried in unison. The meadow curved downwards, like an enormous bowl, and the torrents had been quickly and steadily filling it. It lay before them now, its bottom completely flooded and huge pools of standing water threatening to merge at its sides. _Father this isn't a meadow ! It's a lake !_ They faced eachother, thoroughly alarmed. _My boy,_ they both thought. 

« Frodo ! »

« Samwise ! »

They ran in opposite directions, slipping constantly but caring not in their desperate worry. 

« Frodo ! »

« Samwise ! »

They met again at the other side of the meadow several minutes later.

« He's not here, » they said together, and stared at one another, sick with anxiety. All notions of society and 'position' were completely forgotten as they stood there. Hamfast was not Bilbo's gardener, and Bilbo was not Hamfast's master they were two fathers, one real, one adoptive, and they were bound together in their fear. They reached out instinctively and grasped one another's shoulders.

« We'll find him, » they said. _No matter what it takes,_ they thought. Turning together, they walked on through the blinding rain.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

__

Why is everything taking so long ? Frodo thought miserably, sloshing through the enormous puddles that were collecting on the ground. _And why won't this miserable storm just rain itself out already ?_ The storm, on the contrary, showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. The clouds were just as dark as they had been at the start, and could Frodo have seen the horizon, he would have glimpsed the seemingly endless reinforcements stretching in all directions. Praise the Father, he could not see the horizon. It might have taken the hope right out of him. _It's got to be close it has to be._ But however cold he was, Frodo was willing to walk for as long as it took to get Sam out of the rain. _He needs to be dry, and warm. What he really needs is help, but I can't do that. _The boy's slender ankle was swollen to twice the size of its partner and the skin covering it was now one massive bruise, which had turned a malevolent blue-black color. 

Sam himself had laid his head on Frodo's shoulder again and closed his eyes. Frodo couldn't tell whether he was crying or not for the rain that ran down his face. His small form shivered in Frodo's arms, and Frodo held him closer. _I've got to be suffocating him, holding him this close._ Sam pressed closer in response. _Oh. I guess not, then. Alright, little one. We're almost there, I promise. _ A weak flash of something like laughter sounded in his head, and he smiled wryly. _I *promise*,_ he protested. _Believe and make it so,_ he told himself. _I will get us there._

Walking on determinedly through the rain, he came to the edge of the trees and saw a dark hill rising up before them. _This is it ! The hill ! But where's the overhang ?_ ~ _Up,_ Sam whispered. _Up ? _Frodo asked, but received no answer. « Up the hill, maybe, » he muttered. _Well –_ he began to climb. About halfway up the slope, he saw a darker patch on the hillside to his right. _Up there ? ~ Yes._ ~ _Alright. Hold on, it's slippery._ _Good grief. I'm talking to you without even thinking about it now._ Again, the weak laughter in his head, and he smiled. 

Edging his way across the slope to the darker patch, he saw it open up, become a long hollow in the hill's face. _Ah – now *that* would protect against the rain. _Clasping Sam still tighter to himself, and more afraid than ever he would slip, he came to the hollow and ducked under it. The overhang was wide, and tall enough for him to almost stand – a sort of shallow grassy cave. And it was dry, being upwind from the rain. _That's all I need,_ Frodo thought. _Here at last, and I never even dropped you !_ He was inordinately proud of himself, and perhaps it was this that tripped him up. 

At the last moment, now finally safe from the rain, as Frodo went to sit down, his heel caught on a small stone and he fell backwards, landing hard on his backside. He was still holding Sam tightly as he fell, but the child's ankle jolted against the ground as he landed, and Sam screamed. Frodo wasn't sure which was worse – the scream in his ears or the scream in his mind. Violent flashes of red and black burst frantically in his head, and the pain that briefly surged through his leg almost made him faint with its intensity. _Alright, I don't know how you're doing that, but stop it ! Just stop it !_ Frodo was wet, cold, tired and frightened. _I – can't, I – sorry. Sorry…_ the child's voice cried brokenly. More red and black, and he clung to Frodo, who found himself clinging back just as tightly. _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell,_ he answered. _Whatever's going on isn't his fault it's not his fault, you're doing it too. And I'd be terrified if it didn't feel so natural. But it does. Shhh, Samwise, shhh…_ Now he could hear Sam weeping clearly, his slim body shaking. He rocked him back and forth. _Shhh… It'll be alright, I promise. Cross my heart._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Hee, hee, hee; I did it again! It's just really late where I live, so I can't write anymore tonight. Sorry! Please still keep reading and reviewing! I won't do it again, promise! O_O


	12. Keeping Warm

****

Author Notes: Mish – I love it too! I think a lot of people will definitely think I'm weird, but I don't care. I think Sam and Frodo were soulmates (or rather, other-halves) and therefore had a special bond. My deepest apologies to the Professor for messing with his universe like this. Sorry, sir! I admit it, I'm perfectly shameless! But I love your characters! Please don't haunt me ^_^ Tigrin – hey, thanks for reviewing! And I'm glad it makes sense to you – I know it makes sense to me! My twin cousins can be standing across the room from one another, and I swear to God, they're talking. Not saying a word, but talking. Creepy, in a way. Umm, don't make yourself sick over this update ^_^ That wouldn't be good. Butterfly - *melts into a little puddle of sentiment* Love you, too. ^_^ More thought-interaction here, people! Please review! You *know* I like reviews!

The fields had flooded and many of the roads were washed out by the torrential rain, which fell incessantly from the ever-darkening sky. _If we stay out here much longer, we shall have to swim,_ thought Bilbo, looking anxiously to the clouds overhead. _I can't see a thing ! Maybe we *should* wait the storm out._ He voiced his opinions.

« Aye, the roads are bad, » agreed Hamfast. « But my son is out here, an' I'll not return to Bell without our son. » He raised his chin and straightened his shoulders as he said it, as though expecting some sort of resistance from Bilbo. Bilbo, on the contrary, was relieved to hear that Hamfast had no intentions of stopping the search just for a little rain. _Well, not a little. The Brandywine's probably flooded by now. _He clapped his gardener on the shoulder.

« Glad to hear it ! Where else can we look ? » he asked.

« Well, all the woods round about here. Sam's come here sometimes to play, » Hamfast answered. « Chances are – specially if he's with t' young master – they headed under the trees to protect against the rain. »

« Even with the lightning ? » Bilbo asked, incredulous. Hamfast nodded.

« Anythin' to get out of the storm. In this rain they probably can't find their way home. Trees'd be the next best thing. »

« To the trees, then ! » cried Bilbo, and they marched on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo was shivering terribly and trying his hardest not to. Though the hollow was completely protected from the rain, it was only partially protected from the wind, and every now and then a huge gust would sweep in and freeze them to the bone. Their clothes were absolutely drenched, and they found no warmth in them. Frodo's shivering muscles jerked uncontrollably, and he held Sam as close as he possibly could to keep from dropping him again. Their body heat was a poor exchange for warm, dry clothing, but at the moment they wouldn't have asked for anything more. 

A strange warmth was spreading across Frodo's leg and he looked down at Sam, confused. Then he saw the blood, gleaming stickily red as it ran in thin shining streams from Sam's small foot to the dusty ground. The rock was still embedded in the wound apparently Sam had stepped on it so hard, it had been driven up into the sole of his foot. Frodo grimaced in disgust. _Should I pull it out ? Or just leave it there till help comes ?_ he wondered. _If I pull it out, the wound'll bleed more,_ he reasoned. _I'll leave it there. Unless, of course, you want me to pull it out ?_ he asked. Sam shook his head. _Just leave it,_ he answered tiredly.

Frodo watched him anxiously. The red and black flashes had faded to a dull, blood-colored mist in the back of his mind. Sam's thoughts were clouded by this mist, and a hard, throbbing ache that had started in his broken ankle. Frodo worried whether Sam had gone into shock, but he'd never seen it before, so he couldn't tell. _What d'you do for shock, anyway ?_ he wondered. _Keeping warm is about the only thing I can remember. _He laughed shortly. _Good luck with that. Everything we're wearing is soaked. ~ What about your backpack ?_ said Samwise weakly. _Backpack ? Oh, I'm sure everything in there is dripping, too. _A grey flash of unhappiness lit briefly in his mind, and he felt terrible. _I'll look though._ He directed his thoughts Westward.

_In the name of all the Valar, *what* exactly is going on ? This is ridiculous ! When he's unhappy, *I'm* unhappy when he's in pain, *I'm* in pain. And when he speaks, I hear his thoughts. It apparently works the other way round, too. I've heard of supernatural bonds, but they only happen in legends ! And then after those bonded have spent many, many, many years together. And it takes magic, too. We just met today ! This afternoon ! A few hours ago ! We're just a couple of hobbits, not some ancient Elven heroes. This shouldn't be happening, it's just too unreal. ~ But it's real, _came the answer in his mind not Samwise speaking, but something else. Frodo looked around warily. _Who said that ? ~ You asked. We answered. Believe, halfling this *is* real. _Frodo buried his head in his hands. _Alright. I don't know who you are or why any of this is happening, but I'm sixteen years old. I'm lost, I'm cold, I'm tired, I'm more than a little frightened, and now I'm hearing voices in my mind. I don't know if I'm mad, or going mad, or if this really *is* happening, but assuming that it is, answer me this : Why ? Why him and me ? ~ You are soulmates, _the voice said gently, and disappeared. _Soulmates ? What's a soulmate ? why's a soulmate ? how's a soulmate ? _Frodo chanted inanely in his head. _Soulmates. Thanks. That makes so much sense._ He glared Westward. _Soulmates. Well. Apparently we're soulmates, little one. _A vivid flash of green made Frodo smile. _I'd never have thought happiness was green. Then again, I'd never have thought this morning that I'd be here, in a hollow in a hillside, holding the four year-old child who's apparently my 'soulmate' – whatever that is – while his blood is running over my leg and he's smiling up at me. But I'll believe it._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

« Master Bilbo ? » 

« Yes ! » shouted Bilbo over the storm. 

« Sir, we might try the hills round here. The flooding's so bad they might've headed for higher ground, » said Hamfast. Bilbo nodded.

« Alright, that makes sense. Where are the closest hills ? » he asked. The gardener gestured northwards. « Let's split up, » said Bilbo. « We can each search a hill and then meet together if we don't find them. Then we can search another one, and – »

« Beggin' your pardon, sir, but that's not wise. It'd be best if we stayed together. If one of us gets hurt, we'd need the other for help an' if the boys are hurt, they may need us both. Splittin' up isn't a good idea. » It was one of the only times in Bilbo's long experience with him that Hamfast contradicted him, and he was so astonished that he agreed. Upon thinking the matter over, he decided the gardener was right. _Off we go, then,_ he thought, and they headed towards the dark humps of the hills.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

« Little one ? » Frodo whispered. Sam opened his eyes. « Hey. How're you feeling ? »

« Not so good, » the child mumbled, closing his eyes again. _But it's not your fault, _said his voice in Frodo's head. _So stop thinking that._ Frodo choked back his laughter at the tone of the command. « Alright, alright… » he conceded. « I just wish I could do something for you. » _You're holding me, an' that's enough._ « Hmph, » said Frodo skeptically. « Doesn't _seem_ like enough. » _I want to keep you warm, _he thought. _But I don't know how._ ~_ It doesn't matter. ~ Well it matters to me ! If only we weren't so miserably *wet* ! You're going to catch a chill, I just know it. Assuming you haven't caught one already. ~ I haven't. You have. ~ Don't be ridiculous,_ said Frodo sharply. He didn't want to think about chills he wanted a way to get them home. _This has undoubtedly been the longest day in my entire life,_ he thought heavily. 

__

Sorry, the child said softly. 

__

Oh, it's not your fault. It's just – so many things have happened today. The nightmares, the revelation, the argument with Bilbo… D'you know, I don't care what he says I'd give anything to see him coming over that ridge in front of us. Taking us home fixing your ankle and keeping us warm. Anything. Frodo sighed. _Like that's going to happen. I think we'll just have to wait it out. ~ Then we'll wait,_ Sam answered resolutely through a haze of blood-dark mist. _As if we had a choice, _said Frodo unhappily. _You're so cold, so cold… If only I could keep you warm ! _ He gathered his injured Elf to him, holding him as tightly as he dared, and began to rock slowly back and forth. Weak flashes of green assured him he wasn't hurting the boy, and he set a rhythm to his rocking, softly humming the tune to an old lullaby. A soft, misty grey color grew in his mind, and he felt Samwise falling asleep. He pressed his cheek to the top of Sam's head, and continued rocking gently. The mist increased until he felt himself falling asleep. _Alright, little one. You sleep, then. _And kissing Sam's forehead, he pressed his back to the wall of the hollow and closed his eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N : And they get found in the next chapter, so you don't have to ask. ^_^ I promised I wouldn't do it again, sorry ! Please don't throw things at me ! *hides behind computer* Review, people ! Love ya ! I'll probably update later today, so be on the alert ! (I'd say tonight, but most of you live in different time zones, so suffice to say I'll update in the next twenty-four hours). 


	13. Rescued

****

Author Notes : Mish – hi again ! They'll be rescued, no fear ! Read on ! Ouch, that bamboo thing sounds horrible ! Poor you ! Paper Crane – Okay, I'm hurrying ! ^_^ Here you go ! IloveSam – the thought-reading thing I'm not so sure I can explain. Don't worry, it confuses Sam and Frodo too. ^_^ Elvish – hi ! I'm always glad to get a new reviewer ! Wow, you like it that much ? I'm impressed with myself ^_^ I've updated for you ! Mistress-Samwise – band practice ? ! Ack ! Well read an' review soon as you get home ! tiggivon – thanks ! That good, huh ? *blushes dark red* Tigrin – glad to hear you didn't get sick ^_^ Soulmates ? But of course ! And they are _so_ cute ! I love them both ! Okay, it's the second moment you've all been waiting for – they get rescued ! But this isn't the last chapter, so don't read it as such ! Onward and upward, mes amis !

Bilbo and Hamfast fought their way up one hill, searching all around for the boys, but saw no sign. The wind drove the rain against them, and they squinted to see through it. _Well that's one hill down. Just ten or twenty more to go, _thought Bilbo grimly. _And I'll be hanged if I don't search every single one of them !_

« Do you know of any sort of shelter they might have taken ? » he called to the gardener. « Any of these hills in particular they might have gone to ? » Hamfast shook his head. 

« Could be any of 'em, sir. They all have shelters of sorts – little hollows, overhangs. We'll just have to check them all » he said. Bilbo sighed. _Well, if that's what it takes – I'll just pretend I'm off with the dwarves again. You've faced down dragons, Bilbo Baggins ! What's a little rain to you ? _he thought bravely. _It's not me I'm worried about so much as the boys. Who, for the record, are aged four and sixteen and have never seen a dragon in their lives. Father, keep them safe ! Let us find them. And soon._

Hamfast was having his own worries. _He's hurt, I know it. An' probably lost. Please Father, let young Frodo be with him. I trust that boy he'll take care of Sam. Or the other way round, if it comes to that. Don't let it come to that, please. I don't ask much, I never have. But please just let us find them. Let them be safe they're too special to lose. Please, Father. *Please*. _He raised his eyes to the heavy dark sky, and to Bilbo, who stood next to him, he appeared to be searching for something. He took a deep breath. « Let's try that one there, » he said.

« Right, » said Bilbo.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo sniffed and shifted uncomfortably. He sniffed again, and then again. _Oh, hell._ He wiped the back of his hand under his nose. _Dryer than my handkerchief, anyway,_ he thought wryly. Swallowing, he realized his throat felt a little sore. _Damn. I *am* catching a chill. Well that's just perfect. Just *perfect*. _He scowled half-heartedly, and felt the child shift in his arms. Sam had been sleeping for nearly an hour, so heavily he almost wasn't breathing. 

Frodo had been uncertain as to whether he should wake him from his unnaturally still slumber. _I think he's in shock. I don't think you should let people fall asleep when they're in shock – or is that for concussions ?_ His aunt Clementine, back at Brandy Hall, was a healer, but he had seldom listened to her lessons. Now he mentally kicked himself for his inattention. _At least when he's sleeping he's not in so much pain. At least, I think he's not._ Carefully, almost nervously, he concentrated his thoughts on Sam's. _No, he is._ The dull red mist still permeated Sam's consciousness, though the soft greyness almost covered it. Then he sniffed and Sam stirred, and the greyness in his mind dissolved. His Elf-child woke slowly, reluctantly leaving the haven of his unconsciousness.

_They haven't come yet ?_ he asked unhappily. _No, Sam. Sorry,_ Frodo said apologetically. _How long has it been, anyway ?_ asked Sam. _Only an hour, _Frodo answered. Blank disbelief reached him. _An hour ? Oh, Father, save me ! ~ Sam ? Sam, what's wrong ? _asked Frodo, alarmed. _I hurt, _came the miserable reply. _An' it feels like I've been hurting for ten thousand years, but you said it was only an hour. _His small arms reached up and once again fastened themselves securely around Frodo's neck. _Tell me it was more than that, _his small voice pleaded. Frodo's eyes filled with tears. « Oh, baby… » he whispered against Sam's forehead. _If I lied to you, you wouldn't believe me, _he answered sorrowfully. Raising his eyes, he again turned his thoughts to the West.

__

Father, let him be alright. Make it go away, just let it go away so he can sleep. Please. This time, however, the prayer went unanswered. The blood-colored mist turned again to ever-strengthening flashes of red and black. They shuddered through Sam and reduced his universe to a single, knifelike pain that shot endlessly from his foot to his thigh. He buried his face in Frodo's shoulder and wept. Tears slid down Frodo's cheeks as he held Sam, who shivered in his agony. Never in all his life had Frodo felt so helpless, so sickeningly vulnerable. _And I only just met him today. Maybe that's what soulmates are ? To love eachother like this ? _He sighed. _I don't know. I only hope Bilbo shows up soon. Or *someone* at least. We need help. He's hurt he may be getting sick. _He swallowed again and winced. _I'm definitely getting sick._ _My head hurts and my throat hurts, and all my muscles hurt from sitting here so long. Not that I'm moving, not with him in my lap. I'd rather die than hurt him, _he thought. _Perhaps that's a bit melodramatic. But it's true. I would. _He sniffed again, and a tentative flash of violet-colored worry came to his mind. 

__

Are you alright ? Sam asked, laying quiet a moment. Frodo hesitated, unsure what to answer. _I … I don't feel so good, _he decided. Another, brighter flash. _You're sick. ~ No, I'm not, _said Frodo. _Yes you are, I feel it. You're sick. ~ It's nothing, Sam, _Frodo thought irritably. _Really. Anyway, *you're* the one who needs help, not me. _A brief white flash of annoyance crossed Sam's mind. _Sorry,_ he said. _But you *are* sick. _ Frodo sighed. _Maybe so. But so are you. _The faint laughter chimed again in his mind. _Then we'll be sick together, _Sam said with a brave attempt at a smile. Frodo looked down at him and smiled back. _Alright, then. We can be sick together. Bilbo will come and find us and take us back to Bag End, and then we'll get hot baths and dry clothes and they'll set your ankle and we can sleep in one great bed – my bed – and when you're feeling better, I'll read you stories. How about that ? _A radiant flash of green was his answer, and despite his worries and extreme discomfort, Frodo laughed. _Good. Believe and make it so. ~ I believe, _said the child.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

« Anything ? » Hamfast called.

« Nothing ! » Bilbo shouted back. « If the rain keeps up like this, we shall *have* to return home. No point in us getting drowned out here what help would we be to them then ? »

Hamfast shook his head. « We'll find 'em. I know we will. Just have to keep looking. » 

« Are you sure ? » Bilbo asked doubtfully.

« Sure as I can be of anythin', Master Bilbo. But I'm not coming back without my son, nor your nephew, an' that's all there is to it, » the gardener answered stubbornly. « So let's try that hill. » 

They walked down from the top of the hill they were on, leaping over the swiftly rushing streams of rainwater that had formed. The grassy meadows between the hills had become flooded marshland in the space of a few hours. Both Bilbo and Hamfast were so wet they doubted they'd ever be dry again. They crossed the small valley and began to climb the dark, sloping hillside. A small waterfall had formed over a thrust of granite, spilling down on their heads as they passed under it. 

__

This is steep ! Bilbo thought, scrambling to keep from falling. _Think of dwarves, Bilbo. There. You've done harder things than this. Now keep moving,_ he ordered himself. 

« Look there ! » Hamfast cried suddenly. Bilbo's head jerked up, but he saw nothing. Only rain and more hillside.

« Where ? » he asked, confused. 

« There ! » said Hamfast, pointing up. Bilbo strained his sight and through the blinding rain, he barely made out a darker patch on the hill's face. He turned to the gardener, even more confused.

« What is it ? » he shouted above the wind. Hamfast's dark eyes were bright with hope.

« It's a hollow – an overhang. An' a fairly big one, too. They might be up there ! » he answered. Bilbo, too, felt hope surge in his breast. « Right, then. What are we waiting for ? » he said. 

They walked swiftly up the hill.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

__

Frodo, why aren't they coming ? Sam asked miserably. _I don't know, little one, _Frodo said, equally unhappy. _But I wish they would hurry up already. How're you doing ? ~ I'll live, _came the reply in a strange, cynical tone. _Good grief. 'I'll live'. You sound like an old soldier, saying that. As if you doubted it,_ Frodo teased gently. Sam sighed. _I don't doubt it, but it feels that bad, and – well…_ ~ _Don't worry, Sam. They're coming, I know it. ~ You do ? ~ Would I lie to you ? _ Sam tilted his head to the side, considering. _If you thought it would make me feel better, yes,_ he decided. Frodo blushed. _Guilty as charged,_ he admitted. _But they *will* come, Samwise. They have to. _Sam smiled weakly. _I believe, _he said. _Good lad, _thought Frodo, kissing him on the brow. He frowned suddenly.

« Sam ? » he said aloud. Sam started at the sound of his voice. 

« Hmmm ? » he asked, raising his brows.

« Sam, do you hear voices ? » They looked at eachother and frowned, looking back out from under the overhang. A heavy curtain of rain veiled the entrance, and they saw nothing. « Sorry. I thought – there it is again ! » Frodo cried. _Ouch ! _He reached his hand up to his throat and winced. _So raising my voice isn't a good idea._ The sounds became clearer and they looked at eachother hopefully. _They've come for us, they've found us, we're saved ! _they thought together.

« Up there ! » came a faint cry. _That's my dad !_ Sam said, astonished. 

« Just a little further – » _And that's Bilbo ! _Frodo thought. Wild joy sang in their veins at being found thoughts of hot baths and dry clothes and a great big bed where they would read stories – all these they thought, and clasped eachother tightly in their hope. _We've got to call to them, _said Sam. _Let them know we're here. _Frodo nodded emphatically. _I'll yell. You just lay still, _he commanded, glad to feel no protest. 

« Bilbo ! _Bilbo !_ _Up here ! We're up here !_ » he screamed. 

« It's young Frodo's voice ! No mistaking ! » he heard Hamfast cry. Breathing deep, he screamed out again.

« _Up here ! In the hollow ! We're up here !_ » To his undying relief, he saw two dark forms appear behind the curtain of rain. « _In here !_ » he screamed a final time, and the curtain parted.

« Dad ! » cried Samwise. Hamfast was at his side in an instant, dropping to his knees. Bilbo was beside Frodo. They regarded one another uncertainly for a moment, before Frodo broke into a smile. 

« What took you so long ? » he asked, and Bilbo saw forgiveness in his great blue eyes. He smiled back, and would have thrown his arms around Frodo if Sam hadn't fully occupied the space he wanted to throw his arms around. Hamfast looked up, his dark eyes anxious. 

« He's hurt, » he said, gesturing to his son. Bilbo looked down and saw Sam's injured limb for the first time. 

« By the Father ! How did you manage that, my boy ? » he asked. Sam made another brave attempt at a smile, but failed. The bruises on his ankle had traveled halfway up his leg, and his blood pooled on the ground next to Frodo's thigh. The sharp edge of the rock protruding from his foot made both Bilbo and Hamfast flinch away. 

« I think his ankle's broken, » said Frodo worriedly. « He broke it about two hours ago. And the rock's been there that – » he broke off as a spasm of coughing hit him. _Told you you were sick, _Sam said softly. _Oh, shut up,_ answered Frodo, still coughing. 

« Frodo, you're sick ! » said Bilbo. _Brilliant, Bilbo. State the obvious, why don't you,_ he reprimanded himself.

« We need to get you two home, then, » said Hamfast. « And quick. Need to get that taken care of. » He reached to take his son from Frodo's arms, and Sam and Frodo clung instinctively tighter.

« He doesn't want to be moved, » Frodo said, and Sam shook his head to illustrate the point. « I've got him, anyway. »

« S' alright, Dad, » Sam said in response to his father's doubtful look. « I want to stay with him. » Hamfast quirked an eyebrow and looked at him skeptically, then shook his head and smiled. 

« Alright, then. If that's what you want. An' assuming he wants to carry you. »

« I want to, » Frodo said quickly. 

« Well, then. We should start heading back, » said Bilbo. Frodo stood slowly, stiffly, with Sam still in his arms. _I've got you, little one. Hold tight. We're going home. See ? I told you they'd come for us. _~ _You told me, _Sam agreed. _An' I believed you. We're goin' home._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: And the saga continues! I promised my darling boys hot baths and warm clothes, not to mention storytime! And I can't break my promises to them, can I? Read, review, and watch for updates!


	14. Home Again

****

Author Notes: Hi, all! Sorry I didn't update sooner; I stayed up too late watching the "Terminator" movies (got to love Arnold ^_^). Mish – happy to receive them? Overjoyed! But they haven't received in this chapter, that'll come in the next one. Tigrin – I _love_ the fanart! Thanks so much for drawing it for me! You're the coolest! Aww, poor Frodo. *kisses her picture of Elijah as Frodo* Actually, he's got bronchitis. So does Sam, but for the meantime, Sam is rather preoccupied with his ankle. IloveSam – yeah, the "oh, shut up" thing was – I thought – very realistic. People get annoyed, especially when they're reminded of things they don't want to think about. Our darling boys – well, they're rescued, but they still have to get home! So read on! shirebound – I, too, am majorly relieved that they're rescued. I was worrying myself for a while. Sorry about the swearing – I'm fully aware Tolkien never used curses in his writings. It just seemed a very teenage response to the situation. Sorry it bothered you, I won't do it again ^_^ BellaMonte – hi again! The 'bonds of illness' – yeah, I love that too. I think it's very sweet of them. Butterfly – tu es si mignon, tu sais? Je t'aime toujours! Mistress Samwise – ooooo, I want a flag like that! tiggivon – we are in total agreement ^_^ Alright, so Sam and Frodo have been rescued. Now they have to get home. Onward and upward, mes amis!

How far from home are we anyway ? Frodo asked Sam tiredly. They had made it down the hill without any incidents, and now began the long task of slogging through the mud and the rain to get back home. 

__

'Bout a mile and a half. Maybe two miles, came the answer.

« Two _miles ?_ » Frodo wailed, wincing again at the pain in his throat, which his screaming had ripped raw. Bilbo and Hamfast whirled round and looked at him, surprised.

« Two miles to what, lad ? » Bilbo asked. 

« Home ? » asked Frodo. « It's two miles to home ? » _Please, tell me it's less than that…_

« Thereabouts, Master Frodo, » Hamfast replied. « Though if Samwise is starting to weigh on you – »

« No, that's alright, » Frodo said sharply, tightening his grip on his Elf-child. « I've got him. » The gardener raised his brows at Frodo's tone, but offered no protest. _Seems Sam's happier with him, anyway._ Frodo watched him warily for a moment, as if he would try to snatch Sam away, but nothing happened and the moment passed. They walked on.

__

Sam, how can it be *two miles* ? he whimpered mentally. 

__

Sorry, Sam whispered. _But it is. My dad can carry me, if that's what you want._ A faint grey unhappiness surrounded the thought.

__

No that's *not* what I want ! Frodo said fiercely. _All I want is to stay with you. Besides, I promised you a great big bed and storytime, so we can't be separated. I won't *let* them carry you. _

But you're sick, Sam protested.

__

Yeah, well so are you. So you're not exactly in a position to tell me what to do, thought Frodo. _Look, Sam – I just want to hold you. To make sure you're alright. And I'm afraid that if I let you go, they'll separate us, and then we won't see eachother for days and days. And after this afternoon, I want to see you always. Alright ? _he asked, more gently after his sharpness. Sam turned his head and kissed Frodo on the neck. _I'll take that as a yes,_ Frodo thought with a smile. 

Bilbo and Hamfast were debating over whether to take the boys to Bag End, the Row, or each to his own home. « Bell's been waiting for me to bring him back, » Hamfast said. « I say we go to the Row. »

« Yes, well – there're more bandages and medical what-all at Bag End, » countered Bilbo. « Oh, I don't know. Let's just get there and _then_ figure it out. »

« Well, sir, there's the Hill to climb between our home and yours. Wouldn't it make more sense to decide now, _before _we get there ? » argued the gardener.

« Why don't we just avoid this whole argument by taking our respective children to their respective homes ? » said Bilbo diplomatically. Hamfast agreed that it was an excellent idea, but Frodo had caught this last part of their discussion and spoke up.

« No ! » he said. They turned to him, surprised.

« For heaven's sake, Frodo, why not ? » asked Bilbo.

« I'm not leaving him, » said Frodo, pressing his cheek to the top of Sam's head and glaring at them both.

« Oh, come now, cousin – » Bilbo began, but Frodo cut him short.

« I _said_, I'm not leaving him. I'm not. I won't. » They could see that Frodo was fully prepared to be unreasonable about this, and being wet, weary, and very worried, they weren't in any mood to fight it out with him. They appealed to Samwise instead, reasoning that whatever he wanted, Frodo would agree to – and it was true. But Sam did not agree with them.

« I want to stay with Frodo, » he said, his young voice clear and his green eyes defiant.

« But Sam, your mother – » said Hamfast.

« No » answered Sam. His voice thickened as the pain returned, but he met his father's worried gaze steadily. « I want. To stay. With Frodo, » he repeated slowly, ready to be every bit as unreasonable as his best friend. Sam could be incredibly stubborn when he felt like it, and he was bracing himself to be stubborn now. Hamfast recognized that look and knew there was no arguing with it. 

Had Sam been one of his other sons, he would not have hesitated to strike him and tell him what was what. Just once, mind you, and lightly – more a gesture of authority than an actual blow. Hamfast, unlike some fathers, had never beaten his children and never would. _It's a cruel and stupid thing to do,_ he thought. _An' I'll not have anyone – especially myself – thinkin' I'm cruel and stupid. Don't need to beat the bairns bloody to prove a point. Just slap 'em once and send 'em to their rooms. S' all they need, anyway. _And had Frodo been carrying any of his other children, he would have held to that. But this was Sam, and Sam was different. Never in his darkest moods had he ever raised a hand against his youngest son, and he wasn't going to start now. _If he wants it that much, then alright. We'll go to Bag End an' Bell can just meet us there._ He sighed.

« Alright, son. If that's what you want, » he said. Sam nodded.

« S' what I want, » he mumbled, speaking with difficulty through the still-increasing pain. Laying quiet in Frodo's arms in the hollow, the pain had dulled to the blood-dark mist that surrounded his thoughts. But now, out in the cold, with the driving rain pounding down on his broken bones, being jolted with every step Frodo took, it came surging back in force. He laid his head on Frodo's shoulder and closed his eyes. _Hey, little one,_ Frodo murmured._ Not much further now._ A weak flash of green met his comment. _Don't lie,_ the child instructed, but with a hint of a smile. _I'm not lying,_ Frodo protested. _We've got about a mile to go, and that's not as far as two miles, so we *are* closer. Soon we'll be home and warm and dry and safe. ~ An' you'll read me stories, _Sam said hopefully. Frodo grinned in spite of his discomfort. _Yes. I'll read you stories._

« How much further ? » he asked the adults.

« 'Bout a mile, or three-quarters, » Hamfast answered. « Why ? »

« No reas- » Frodo stopped as a coughing fit took him, turning his face away from Sam so as not to cough on him. His slim shoulders shook and his cough sounded raw and wet. Amethyst lightning shot through his mind, and he felt Sam's arms tighten round him. _You're sicker than you thought,_ the boy said anxiously. _Oh, botheration, Samwise ! It's just a cough ! _Frodo shot back, not angry so much as worried that Sam was right. _An' the bruise on my leg is just a bruise, never mind the broken bones, _Sam countered. Frodo glared down at Sam, who glared right back up at him. _You're sick. An' you can say what you like about it, but you're sick._ _I'm just worried for you,_ he thought, his glare fading. He reached up and touched Frodo's cheek uncertainly. Frodo took his hand and held it. _I know. And I'm sorry I got angry. It's just – well, whatever I catch – or have caught already – I could very well give to you_. _And I don't want to do that,_ he thought unhappily_._

The adults had paused while Frodo coughed himself out, and were witness to this strange, silent exchange of thoughts. To their knowledge, nothing had been said, and yet a wide range of emotions crossed the boys faces. A strange intensity burned between them, and Bilbo and Hamfast looked at eachother, bemused.

« Come along, lads, » Bilbo said. « Frodo, you're alright now ? » Frodo nodded. _Hmph. I doubt it. That cough sounded distinctly like the beginnings of bronchitis. I shouldn't wonder if Samwise has it, too. Well, it's not much further. Then we can get them warmed and dried and all sorted out._

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Half an hour later, they were still wading through the water, knee-deep in some places. The rain fell thick and fast as ever. _At this rate, the roads'll be washed out for days,_ Hamfast thought. _I hope this rain don't ruin my flowers. _Flowers are fragile, and a heavy rain can crush them. Hamfast pictured a whole summer's work undone in a single afternoon, and cringed internally. Looking back to the boys, he saw Frodo stumble, and reached out quickly to catch him before he fell. 

« Careful, now, young master, » he said.

« Thanks, » Frodo said wearily, looking down at Sam. His thoughts were now a constant pulse of red and black, shifting in varying brightness in Frodo's mind. _Did I hurt you ?_ he asked. _Never,_ Sam replied. _I hurt anyway. _Frodo's smile touched him in a flash of dark green. _Now who's lying, little one ? I'm sorry. ~ It don't matter none. I hurt anyway, like I said. _Frodo kissed the top of his head and walked on, wet, cold, and weary to the bone. _When I get home I'm going to sleep for a hundred years, _he thought. _And a curse on the person who wakes me up !_ A picture formed in his mind of himself, asleep in an enormous canopied bed, clad all in white and his brow bound with a thin fillet of silver an Elven prince, asleep. _Are you doing that ?_ he asked. Sam nodded, and the motion sent a shiver of pain through him. The picture was covered in a mist of black, and Sam's fingers twisted the collar of Frodo's tunic so tightly they almost tore it.

Frodo thought a moment, and quickly formed a picture in his own mind : the two of them, warm and dry, in Frodo's bedroom at Bag End. They were sitting up in bed, Sam's head on Frodo's shoulder, and Frodo was reading him a book of Elvish legend while the rain poured outside and a fire crackled in the fireplace. Sam concentrated his whole thought on that image, and the pain slowly receded. Green flickered for a moment in Frodo's mind, and he breathed more easily. 

« I'll run get Bell an' bring her up to the house, » Hamfast said suddenly. Frodo looked up, surprised, and even Sam opened his eyes. _We're here ?_

« We're home ? » Frodo asked. Bilbo turned to him.

« Not quite, my lad. But almost. We have about a quarter of a mile to go then we'll get you two out of this horrible rain, » he said.

« Quarter of a mile more or less ? » Frodo asked.

« Less, » said Bilbo. Frodo could have cheered for relief. _We're almost there, we're almost there, _he said triumphantly, flooding Sam's mind with brilliant green flashes. Sam clung to the flashes for the final, agonizing fifteen minutes. Bilbo was walking faster, so Frodo had to keep pace. The result was Sam's slim leg getting jolted and stabbing pains to his injured ankle. His ankle hurt so badly he had completely forgotten about his foot, where the rock was still embedded. _Almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there, _he repeated over and over. 

They struggled up a slope and saw, to Frodo's everlasting joy, Bag End. It was still a few hundred yards off, but he had been starting to doubt that they would ever see it. The rain and the wet and the cold just seemed to go on forever, and to actually _see_ a warm, dry home nearly brought Frodo to tears. Keeping his eyes firmly focused on the smial, he straightened his shoulders and walked as fast as he could. _We're almost there, we're almost there, we're almost there,_ he and Sam chanted in harmony. Across the cobbled road, up to the front gate, over the flooded flagstone path – _we're here !_

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: And we have yet to get to the great big bed and storytime. I think I'll throw in a few complications, huh? I just can't bear to give this story up! Review, people! Je vous aime!


	15. Blood and Bandages

****

Author Notes: shirebound – I'm updating again! Yay! *throws flowers around* You're so welcome! Butterfly – (or shall I say 'Boof'? *grins evilly* You know what I mean…) No French this time. Suffice to say – love you always! you're the best! Mish – complications you shall have! I just can't stop this story, I love it too much! Ah, tu aimes le francais aussi? C'est vraiment la belle langue, pas italien. ^_^ tiggivon – I'm throwing everything I've got into this, I assure you. I'm so glad you like it so much! Soccer practice starts tomorrow, so I'll have less time to update, but I'll try and get chapter 16 up ASAP, promise. ^_^ Mistress-Samwise – oh, God. Don't tell me I changed your life. *hides behind computer* j/k! Wow, I inspired you? I'm honored. *blushes* I'll be cheering for your story all the way, I promise, the way you cheered for mine! Love you, girl! Tigrin – Sam will be okay, but there's major pain for him in this chapter. *pulls out tissues and weeps* My poor Sam, how could I do this to him? But it's alright, he'll get better. IloveSam – a whole week without you? *faints* Well, read and review soon as you get back, 'K? Love you all! Read on!

« My baby ! » Bell Gamgee cried, holding out her arms for Sam. Frodo hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing him to her. _S' alright, Sam. She's got you. ~ Don't you leave me,_ Sam said. Frodo laughed shortly. _I have no intention of leaving you._ Bell was stroking Sam's hair.

« Goodness, child, you're soaked to the bone. And you, too, Frodo, » she said, turning to the teenager standing at her side. Frodo shrugged with what he hoped was nonchalance, but the gesture didn't carry, because in a moment he was bent double, coughing himself sick. He felt Bilbo's hands on his shoulders and pounding him on the back. With a final cough, he gasped, and straightened. 

__

Are you alright ? the thought was sharp with urgency. He turned to the child in Bell's arms, and nodded. The adults looked at one another, confused, and Bell shifted Sam to balance him against her hip. He shrieked with pain, and she almost dropped him in her surprise.

« Samwise, what's wrong ? » she asked.

« Frodo ? » said Bilbo, alarmed. At Sam's cry, suffocating blackness had covered his mind and a wrenching pain had twisted his leg. He gasped, and staggered, clinging to the wall for support. For several moments, he couldn't think at all. Then the blackness faded, and he dimly heard Sam weeping. The mist dissolved, and he returned to Sam's side.

« Don't _do_ that, Mistress, » he said emphatically. Bell had seen Sam's injury, and turned to him for an explanation.

« What happened ? » she asked. Hamfast had said only that he was hurt, but neither how nor how badly. Frodo held out his arms and took Sam from her before she could protest. Sam whimpered softly and pressed close to Frodo, who kissed his hair and held him tight. « Frodo-lad, what happened ? » Bell asked again. « What happened to my son ? »

Frodo hesitated. « There was an accident – he – he tripped… I think his ankle's broken, and that stone's been there as long, » he said. _Shhh, little one. Calm down, you're hurting me._ Sam hiccuped and stopped abruptly. _But it hurts, it *hurts*…_~ _I know. S' alright, we're home now._

Bell raised her brows. « And where was it you were going so fast that he tripped and broke his ankle ? »

« We were running from the lightning, » Frodo said simply. A wave of dizziness made him sway, and Bilbo reached out an arm to steady him. « I think – I think I need to sit down… » Frodo said.

« Alright, lad, alright. » Bilbo led him to the kitchen and he sat down heavily on a chair by the stove, Sam still in his arms. _Oh, it feels good to be warm,_ he thought, and felt Sam's agreement. In a few moments, a large pool of water had formed round them and was spreading rapidly over the flagstone floor. Bell, the capable mother, took matters firmly in hand.

« First things first – you need to get dry, » she said. « Master Bilbo, have you any towels ? »

« In the bathroom, I'll go get them, » answered Bilbo.

« Get some for yourself and my husband as well, » she called after him. « You're as bad as the boys. » Turning back to Sam and Frodo, she continued. « Then you both need hot – very hot – baths, or you'll catch pneumonia. Assuming you haven't already. » 

« But Mistress, his ankle's broken. It needs to be set before any of this is done, » Frodo protested as Bilbo came back with the towels.

« Husband, I brought thee a change of clothes they're in the guest-room, » Bell said. Hamfast nodded and walked off, and Bilbo went to his own room to change. « Lad, you're right, his ankle needs setting. But if he doesn't get out of those clothes, an' you out of yours, an' quick, we'll have worse problems than broken ankles on our hands. Ain't no one ever died of a broken ankle. I've known quite a few who died of pneumonia, » she said. « Now dry off. »

Frodo smiled at her motherly tone, thinking of times his own mother had dried him off after swimming in the river or playing in the rain. _Alright, Sam. Hold on._ He stood up carefully and set Sam on the table, with his legs dangling. Then, laying his backpack on the chair, he stripped to his breeches, letting his drenched cloak, tunic and sash drop to the floor, unheeded. Quickly drying himself off, he laid his towel on the table and turned to Sam. _Now you,_ he thought. 

Sam was already untying his sash, and pulled his tunic over his head, mussing his dripping locks even further. He looked very young and very sweet as he sat there, a little boy in his breeches. Frodo kissed him impulsively and took the dry towel. _Hold still, _he ordered, and began to dry Sam off, starting first with his hair and then working his way down. Laughter tingled in his mind again, like the chiming of small and far-off silver bells. _That tickles,_ Sam protested. Frodo smiled. « Oh, it does, does it ? » he asked aloud. Bell, who was gathering up the wet clothes from the floor, paused and looked at them curiously. Neither of them noticed her, but she saw the sudden changes in their eyes and their faces. _As though they were talking,_ she thought wonderingly. _Oh, nonsense. They're doing no such thing. You just didn't hear him, is all._ She took the clothes to the bathroom and wrung them out in the tub, marveling at the vast amounts of water two cotton tunics and one woolen cloak could hold.

In the kitchen, Frodo had reached Sam's knees. He stopped there for the right leg and continued drying the left. _I'm afraid to touch your other leg,_ he explained. _I don't want to hurt you._ Sam nodded. « Mistress ? » Frodo called. « We're done. » Bell came back in, drying her hands.

« So you are, lad, » she said.

« They are what ? » asked Bilbo as he and Hamfast reentered the room.

« Dry, » Bell answered.

« Good ! » said Bilbo. « Frodo, you go hop in the bath while we put Sam's ankle to rights. » Frodo crossed his arms in front of his chest. « No, » he said. 

« Cousin, this is _not_ the time to be unreasonable, » Bilbo said, exasperated. « Now go get in the bath. » Frodo lifted his chin and stood his ground, his eyes dark and determined.

« _No,_ » he said again. « I won't leave him. »

« I need him, sir, » Sam said softly. The adults turned to him, surprised. The child held their gazes and repeated himself. « I need him. » Bilbo threw up his hands in defeat.

« You two are impossible, » he muttered beneath his breath. « Alright, then. I suppose the kitchen is as good a place as any. Bell, what shall we do ? » he asked. She was already gathering things and placing them on the counters. Bell had a cousin who was a healer-woman, and many a practical thing had she learned from her. Towels, bowls, bandages, hot and cold compresses, boiling water, brandy, and – most especially – herbs. Herbs for cleansing and disinfecting, herbs for healing, and herbs to ease the pain. All these Bell laid out on the counters, and last of all, she took from the rack by the sink a small, sharp knife, which she sterilized in the boiling water.

A wave of sick, dark fear washed over Frodo and Samwise as they saw the light flash on the steel. _She's not actually going to *use* that, is she ? _Frodo thought, horrified. Sam's eyes were wide and wary, and he looked at his mother in sick disbelief. Bell saw her son's face and knew his thoughts. Placing the knife on the table, she walked over to him. 

« Samwise, love. » He looked at her, mistrustful. « Sam, the knife is only in case the rock won't come out on its own. An' I'm sure it will. I'll do everything I have to before I use that knife, son. I promise, » she said, touching her forehead to his. _She will, Sam,_ Frodo said. Sam's glance flicked his way, and dark uncertainty reached his mind. _Believe her, Sam. She won't hurt you if she doesn't have to,_ Frodo said. The uncertainty lingered a moment before dissipating. Sam nodded. 

« Alright, » he whispered. 

« Bell, lass ? What d'you want us to do ? » Hamfast asked. 

« Hold things and hand me things, love, » she answered. « Frodo, you'll comfort him ? »

« Naturally, Mistress, » said Frodo, rather indignant at the question.

« Alright, then… His leg's what's hurting, so he doesn't have to be lying down. Sam, if you could sit up with your back against Frodo an' your legs on the table… » Sam hesitated. _Help,_ he said softly. Frodo placed his arm under Sam's knees and gently lifted him so the child's legs were on the table rather than hanging over the edge. _Hold on tight one, two, three –_ he carefully placed Sam down again. Sam whimpered when his injured foot touched the hard wood, and red streaked through Frodo's mind. _Shhh…_he soothed. The redness ebbed, and Frodo kissed Sam's hair. _Good lad._ He set his hands on Sam's shoulders, letting them rest there a moment before slowly slipping his arms around Sam's waist. The child leaned back against him and took his hand, holding it lightly in his small one. 

« Alright, » Bell said again, speaking quietly to herself. « That stone is the first thing to take care of. Husband, hold this bowl 'neath his foot – yeah, that's good. Master Bilbo, if you'll just hold these towels till I need 'em… » Pulling up a chair, she sat down and reaching out, took hold of Sam's foot. The boy made a choking sound, and Frodo felt dizzy with pain, but Sam didn't scream. « Good boy, » Bell congratulated him, smiling but Frodo saw the pain in her eyes. _How hard must it be for her to hurt her favorite child ?_ he wondered. _It's almost as bad for her as it is for him and me._

Before the pain had fully receded, Bell set to work. « I'm going as fast as I can, » she reassured them, but to both it seemed an age. The stone was firmly driven up into his small foot, and it was no easy task to remove it. _Don't let her use the knife, please don't let her use the knife,_ Frodo prayed. Sam's thoughts were a storm of blood and darkness, and he was gripping Frodo's hand so tightly Frodo was certain his fingers would break. But he was gripping Sam's just as tightly, and every shiver of pain that went through them made him clasp the child closer to himself. _Shhh, little one, shhh,_ he thought, hoping with all his might that it would be over soon. _How much worse it is for him,_ he knew, and the knowledge strengthened his resolve. _He needs you, Frodo Baggins don't you faint on him now. He needs you._

« Why won't the wretched thing just _come ?_ » Bell muttered fiercely. _I will not use that knife,_ she thought. _I won't, I won't, I *won't*. Anything before that. _« Sam, love, I'm going to pull on this, and pull hard, alright ? » Sam just stared at her through a haze of pain and tears. She looked to Frodo. He had his arms tight around Sam and his cheek pressed to the top of Sam's head. His face was pale and tearstreaked and his breathing was uneven. At her words, he looked up, and his expression was the mirror of her son's. Again, she frowned at the strangeness between them before shaking her head. « Alright, lad ? Here I go, one, two, three – ! » 

Sam didn't scream. He opened his mouth to, but pain had left him voiceless. So he sat bolt upright in Frodo's arms, his breath coming in short, breathless gasps. His eyes seemed huge, and the adults couldn't bear to look at him for the pain in his face. The stone had come out alright, landing with a 'thock' in the bowl Hamfast held. It was quickly submerged in the shining streams of blood that gushed from the wound. The small bowl filled quickly as Hamfast stood there, half-paralyzed with the horrible shock of watching his son's blood spill into a bowl, bright and red and warm. 

« Master Bilbo, the towels ! » Bell cried, taking them from him and pressing them to the wound. The blood seeped quickly through the first one, but more slowly through the second. As Bell increased the pressure, the bleeding slowed further. After about fifteen minutes of watching the red stain spread across the white fabric, the wound was stanched. In all this time, the boys were absolutely still, barely breathing in their pain. 

Now Bell was cleansing the wound, rinsing it first in warm water and then in the boiling water she had prepared. Neither of them noticed until she poured the brandy over it. It was fine brandy – Yale brandy, the finest made – and it had been aging for a while. At the fire in his veins, Sam found his voice and screamed himself voiceless again. Frodo gathered Sam into his arms and closed his eyes, rocking the child back and forth. 

The agony of blackness that gripped Frodo's mind was too awful for description, and he was sure he would die from it all if it didn't end soon. _Strong, you idiot, be strong ! _he commanded himself over the screaming in his mind. It went on and on, all the pain in the world contained in a small boy's wordless cry. None of the adults tried to stop him, to hush him they knew it would be pointless. So for another quarter of an hour, Sam screamed, until his breathing caught, and he began to cough. And a deep, raw, wet cough it was, sending an insistent rumble through Frodo's own infected lungs. He too, began to cough, and the room was filled with the sound for another ten minutes. Bell, meanwhile, was bandaging her son's foot, winding the linen tightly around it and securing the ends.

Finally, with a last choking gasp that tore from their aching chests, they stopped and breathed. _I am going to die,_ said his Elf-child bitterly. _No, Sam,_ Frodo said. _It just feels that way. But it'll be over soon, I promise you, and then they'll leave you alone._ ~ _You promise ?_ Sam asked. _Cross my heart,_ answered Frodo, somehow moving his hand and making a cross in the air over his chest. _See ? ~ Yes. _Sam lay his head on Frodo's shoulder and closed his eyes.

« Tell me we're done, » he whispered hoarsely. The adults turned to eachother, tears in their eyes. 

« No, lad, » Hamfast said. « There's still your ankle to tend to. » Sam opened his eyes for a moment and looked at his father.

« Daddy, don't hurt me, » he said, barely audible, but the look in his eyes would have said it for him. Hamfast's dark eyes met his son's and kneeling down so they'd be at eye level, he took his son's hand. 

« I. Would _never._ Hurt you, » he said slowly. « _Never._ » Sam nodded.

« I know, » he whispered, and closed his eyes again, reassured. He had perfect faith in his father, and if Hamfast said he wouldn't hurt him, he wouldn't hurt him. Someone else, maybe, but not his father. His pain eased a little at the thought.

« Well, the ankle should be easier, » said Bilbo quietly. « I mean, all we have to do is bind it, not pull things out of it. »

« We'll see how easy it is, » said Bell dryly, laying her hand on Sam's head. « Baby, we're binding your ankle now. Alright ? » Sam nodded, the barest movement of his head. She turned to Frodo. « Put him back on the table, lad. » Frodo's thoughts were clouded with Sam's pain, but somehow he managed to follow her orders, placing Sam gently back on the hard wooden surface. _Hold on, Samwise, hold on. They're almost done, they'll be done soon and they'll leave you alone, I promise, I promise…_

Bell took up the roll of linen bandages again, and with a brief prayer for courage and quickness, stepped forward to her son. « Hamfast, hold his leg down, » she said. « Master Bilbo, if you'd be making a tea with that valerian… » Bilbo immediately set about it, glancing worriedly over his shoulder every few seconds. « Alright, » Bell whispered. « Just this, an' then the worst is over. » Hamfast held his son's leg straight, lifting it slightly above the table so his wife could wrap the bandage around the ankle. 

Sam's slender ankle was terribly swollen, but it would have to be wrapped tightly if the bones were to heal correctly. Bell gently placed her hand on the blue-black bruise that covered the affected area, wincing herself at Sam's sharp breath. « Alright, baby, alright, » she murmured. « Hold still. » No need to tell him that, he didn't move at all. He and Frodo sat there perfectly still as shocked tears ran silently down their faces. For Frodo it was a torment, but for Sam it was a nightmare beyond all reckoning. When Bell pulled the cloth tight and his bones slid reluctantly into place again, merciful darkness rushed over him. Frodo swayed and then fainted dead away. Bilbo caught him before his head hit the hard flagstone floor. 

« Brandy, » he called softly, and Hamfast handed it to him. He waved the open bottle under Frodo's nose and the teenager came to with a start. _Sam,_ was his only thought and he stood quickly, still unsteady on his feet and went to Sam's side. Through the grey mists of unconsciousness, the blood-darkness still pulsed, but it no longer had such an effect on Frodo. He could think more clearly now, had he wanted to. He didn't want to. _Sam, my Sam, my Elf-child. They're almost done, I promise, I promise,_ he repeated over and over. Finally, finally, Bell was finished. Yards and yards of stiff white linen had been wrapped as tightly as possible around the boy's ankle and over his foot and up almost to his knee. 

« Sam ? Sam, baby, drink this, » Bell said softly as Sam returned slowly to consciousness. She held a mug to his lips of a strong bitter tea. It had valerian in it, and tincture of poppies to kill the pain. It tasted terrible, but a few minutes later, the pain receded. Sam's thoughts were clouded, but the pain had lessened, so he didn't care as he lay in Frodo's arms again. _I don't feel so bad, now,_ he said, a little thickly. Frodo hugged him, and then a thought came to him.

« How're we going to bathe him ? » he asked. « With the bandage, I mean. Or even get his breeches off ? » 

« The breeches'll come off easy. As for bathing him – I suppose we could wrap his leg in towels and try to keep it out of the water, » said Bell. « I'll take care of that. » Frodo was too tired to argue.

« Alright. Just so long as I can be in the same room, » he said.

« We wouldn't dream of separating you, Frodo, » Bilbo soothed. _Another argument is the last thing we need, anyway._ « I'll run those baths for you, Bell, » he said, and walked from the room.

« Clothes ! » said Hamfast suddenly. « I should go get him some. »

« He can borrow some of mine, » said Frodo.

« They'd be too big, » said Bell with a laugh. Frodo frowned at her.

« He can borrow mine, Mistress, » he repeated. And the matter was settled. Bell smiled at him.

« I can't tell you how we appreciate your steadying him, Frodo-lad. You're a good boy. A good friend to him, » she said. Frodo blushed and lowered his eyes.

« I only did what was needed, » he mumbled. _Because I love you,_ he whispered to Sam. A faint flash of green reached him through the haze of the painkilling tea. _I love you, too,_ the child replied, and Frodo smiled.

« Alright, the baths are ready ! » Bilbo said, stepping into the room

« Right, then, » said Frodo. « Off we go. » And, Bell following, he walked slowly down the hallways to the bathroom with his Elf-child heavy in his arms.

A/N : Next chapter – bath and bedtime. This long, long day is finally ending for our darling boys. Fortunately, this long, long story is not. They're sick, remember ? So they have to be sick together and get well together and then there'll be storytime ! *claps hands* Anything to keep this going. Review, my dear reviewers ! I love hearing from you !


	16. And Now To Bed

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Author Notes : Okay, so I uploaded this one really fast. There's no real 'reviewers section' in this A/N, because no one's reviewed Chapter 15 yet. S' okay. I'm not offended. *buries face in hands and weeps* j/k ! I love you if you reviewed, whoever you are ! Especially my veteran readers ! Read on, people, it's bathtime for our beautiful boys.

« Here, lad, I'll take him, » Bell said, reaching for her son. Kissing Sam one last time, he handed him to her. The steaming water in the bathtubs looked very inviting, and Frodo wanted nothing more than to just sink down into it. Then he remembered Bell, and blushed, suddenly awkward. With an amused smile, Bell looked away and he quickly got out of his breeches and into the water.

« I've had three sons, lad, » she said, and Frodo blushed again.

« Yeah, well I'm not your son, » he mumbled, even more embarrassed. Bell laughed softly.

« No, you're not. Hold still, baby, » she said, wrapping the towels around Sam's already bandage-encased foot and leg. The little boy sat in her lap naked as the day he was born and completely unfazed by the fact. He might have been embarrassed but for that he was still very young, that hobbits generally had no inhibitions about undressing in front of members of the same sex, and that he was so hazy with painkillers he hardly noticed what was going on.

« There, now… » his mother said, lowering him carefully into the hot water, making sure to keep his injured limb above the surface. Then she took the soap and began washing him up, scrubbing his hair and his back and his body and rinsing him off with a large bath-sponge. Frodo, too, was washing up, his eyes for the most part fixed on Sam. They finished at about the same time, and with an embarrassed look, Frodo gestured for Bell to turn away. She did, still looking amused, and Frodo got out of the water, drying off quickly and wrapping a towel around his waist.

« Alright, Mistress, » he said, and she turned back to her son.

« Come on, Samwise, » she said cheerfully, lifting him out of the water and onto her lap again. She unwound the towels around his leg, and, taking a dry one, dried him off. « Clothes you said you had for him ? » she asked. 

« I'll go get them, » said Frodo, shivering a little as he stepped into the cold dark hallway from the warmth and light of the bathroom. Walking a short ways and turning down another hallway, he went into his bedroom. _Clothes for him, clothes for him. I should just get dressed here,_ he thought, and letting his towel drop to the ground, he dressed in a soft grey woolen tunic – one of the warmest things he owned. Pulling a pair of black knee breeches on, he tied his tunic with a black sash. _Now clothes for him, _he thought, searching through his drawers. _Mistress is right, he'll be practically swimming in these. I don't care. I'll feel like I've wrapped him up in me._ The thought sent a warm glow through his chest and he smiled. _Oh, this'll work…_

He took out a dark blue tunic, almost the color of his eyes. It was thick and soft and beautifully woven – it had been a present for his sixteenth birthday. _He's given me enough,_ he thought. _Only fair that he should have this._ He nodded and smiled in satisfaction. _I suppose any breeches would be far too big. As for a sash…_ Searching through his drawers again, he found a white one. _He'll look like an Elven princeling in this,_ Frodo thought grinning. _Alright, these are good._

He walked back down the hallways to the bathroom and handed the clothes to Bell. She gave a little 'oh !' of delight at the feel of the fabric and the rich dark color. « Lad, these're beautiful, » she said. « Are you sure you want to… ? »

« I'm sure, Mistress. Those are the ones, » he answered. Looking bemused, Bell shook her head and dressed her son. The large tunic slipped easily over Sam's head, and the collar rested on the ends of his slim shoulders. Fortunately, it wasn't so large it slid off. The tunic, which came to about Frodo's knees, hung to the floor on Sam, and Frodo smothered a laugh. When Bell tied it with the white sash, though, Sam stopped looking ridiculous and was verily the Elf-prince Frodo had imagined him to be. He smiled again with satisfaction. A soft question touched his mind, and he drew a picture for Sam of the golden-haired child clad in blue and white as he rested in his mother's arms. Green flashed back to him, and he saw the boy smiling sleepily. The dark blue of the tunic made his eyes look almost turquoise, and Frodo loved him so much in that moment, he could have cried out. With an effort, he bit his lip and held his silence. 

Then he walked over to Bell's side and reached for Samwise. She handed him to him unquestioningly, and Frodo blushed with pleasure when the child wrapped his arms about Frodo's neck. Kissing Sam's brow, he held him close and stood thus for a moment, holding the child. Someone knocked softly on the door, and Bell opened it. Bilbo and Hamfast stood there, both looking every bit the worried father. They relaxed to see Sam and Frodo bathed, dressed, and ready for bed.

« Come on, lads, » Bilbo said. « Frodo, I've laid a fire in your room. » Frodo nodded.

« Thanks, » he said.

« Bell, » said Hamfast. « We'd best be goin' now. The other children… » Bell sighed, extremely reluctant to leave her son, even if with trusted friends.

« Right, » she said, and kissed both Sam and Frodo. « You'll be good now, won't you ? » Both of them nodded, and she smiled. « Then I'll see thee both in the morning. » 

Hamfast also kissed his son and smiled affectionately at Frodo, who smiled back. « Tomorrow, lads, » he said, and with that, they took their leave of Bag End, walking home through the blinding rain.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

__

To bed at last ! Frodo thought wearily. _I've said it before, but this has undoubtedly been the single longest day of my entire life. And I'm so glad it's over._ Sam smiled and said nothing as Frodo carried him down the hallway to his bedroom. Laying him down gently on the bed, he started the fire and built it up till it was burning brightly. Then he turned down the covers of the bed and pulled them over Sam. _I'm cold,_ he thought, and retrieved more blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed, taking from the top the soft green blanket Sam had given him. Laying them over Sam and still holding the green one, he slipped into the bed and spread the green blanket over both of them. Sam smiled again and Frodo wrapped his arms tightly around the child. Their eyes were drifting slowly shut when Bilbo came in bearing a tray. _What the – ?_ they both thought.

Setting the tray down on the bedside table, Bilbo gestured for them to sit up.

« Sorry for waking you two, » he said. « But Bell left explicit orders that had to be filled before you slept. Sam, you're to drink this Frodo, this. It's for your coughing, it's supposed to help, » he explained, handing them both mugs of tea. Still sleepy, they took them from him and drank. It tasted like chamomile and honey, and they had no objections to draining them. Handing the empty mugs back to Bilbo, they lay back down. Bilbo tousled their hair and smiled at them.

« Good boys, » he said softly. « You sleep now. » They nodded, and he walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

__

Well, Sam. ~ Well ? ~ I promised you a great big bed, and here we are. ~ Mmhmm, Sam answered sleepily. _I promised you stories, too, but I'm too tired. ~ S'alright,_ Sam said. _I'm too tired to listen._ Frodo smiled. _Maybe later, then. ~ Later,_ Sam agreed. The fire crackled and the rain pounded outside, but in the room it was dark and warm. Their eyes closed, and they slept.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Whee! There's so much more still to write! Sorry this one's a little short, but the last one was long. I'm maintaining harmony. ^_^ Reviews very much appreciated! 


	17. Family Matters

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Author Notes: Hi, people! I'm really _really_ sorry I haven't updated sooner! I promise I won't make you wait so long again before chapter 18. See? Cross my heart ^_^ (So I stole Frodo's line. So what?) But I'm updating now! Yay! shirebound – awww, you liked that line too? It just seemed so sweet and – well, Frodo-like. *kisses her picture of Frodo* Got to love that teenager ^_^ Mish – actually, with numbing shots it would be _worse!_ I was in a pretty bad car wreck a couple of years ago and it took a couple hundred stitches to sew me up. All I can remember of that night in ER was pleading with the doctors just to do it without the numbing medicine, which hurt too much. Anyway, our sweet Sam braved it out, and he's okay now. *kisses her picture of Sam* Well, his ankle, anyway. They're still gonna be sick together. TK – hi! I love new reviewers! Wow, you had to wait all day? That majorly s*cks, my friend. I would have died of impatience if I were you (so patience isn't my strong point. Big deal. ^_^) I'm definitely gonna make it okay, so you can stop glaring at me. *grins* And I'm making it as long as possible, believe me! Mistress-Samwise – as always, a pleasure to hear from you ^_^ Sorry you couldn't wait, and then I made you wait. *raises hands defensively* Please don't throw things at me! Tigrin – thanks so much! I'm glad the descriptions are good. Being my own worst critic, I can never tell. You, however, give me confidence. ^_^ *hands you a cookie* Thank you! Elvish – there's _definitely_ more to come! As much as I can possibly think up, I promise you! By the way – what's 'AC' stand for? You write it at the end of your reviews. IloveSam- bungee jumping! Aiieee!!! Are you nuts?! Mail me and tell me all about it, I'd love to hear from you. ^_^ tiggivon – the sound of rain is like, my favorite in the whole world. (This love for rain stressed by the fact that I live in the Southwest, and so we don't get any.) Butterfly – ah, ma meillure amie! Alright, no French ^_^ Love you forever! So. These notes are really really long. Just read the story ^_^. This is the same night, and what goes on at #3 Bagshot Row.

« Where's Sam ? »

« Mum ? Dad ? Where is he ? »

« Is he alright ? »

« He's not hurt, is he ? »

« Is it bad ? »

The children were talking all at once, and Hamfast held up his hand. They fell quiet, watching their parents expectantly. Hamfast began to explain.

« Sam's at Bag End, with Master Frodo – »

« Why ? »

« Frodo's not hurt, is he ? »

« – an' he's going to stay there for a while, » Hamfast finished. His elder sons and daughters were questioning him and eachother rapidly, trying to assess the situation. He opened his mouth to speak again, but they talked right over him. He rolled his eyes, exasperated.

« Quiet ! » he said. Five pairs of dark and worried eyes met his own. « Alright, » he said. « Now. Sam's at Bag End. He'll be there a few days, an' maybe a few weeks, depending. »

« But – » Daisy began. He silenced her with a look.

« His ankle's broken, and his foot's wounded pretty bad, so he can't be moved, » he explained. 

« How bad ? » asked Halfred anxiously.

« Not good, » said Bell. « Had a rock this big in his little foot. Almost needed a knife to get it out. »  
« A _knife ?_ » the four older children said, horrified. Marigold wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but she did know that her favorite brother was hurt somehow, and that he wasn't coming home. Her big, dark eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. Hamfast picked her up. 

« S'alright, littlest. She didn't _use_ it, » he reassured. Bell nodded.

« S'right, I didn't. Had to pull on it something fierce 'fore it came, but it did. Praise the Father. »

« Praise the Father, » the children murmured. 

« So how did it happen ? » Hamson asked. 

« They got caught in the storm, » Hamfast said. « They were runnin' from t'lightning, and he tripped. »

« But the rock ? » asked May.

« He must've stepped on it the wrong way, » said Bell. « It was driven right firm into the sole. » The children winced at the image that created in their minds. 

« He's alright ? » asked Halfred.

« Well, he will be, » said their father. « Your mother tended to him an' bound his ankle. » He smiled at Bell, who smiled back, but half-heartedly.

« Probably still hurts somethin' awful, » she said under her breath, looking out the kitchen window to Bag End. She had known Bilbo a long time, now, and he was a good and worthy friend. Frodo, too, she trusted, and loved him as if he were her own. But this did not change the fact that her _real_ son was hurt, and she couldn't care for him. Sam had always been her favorite child, and she felt horribly guilty for leaving him. _When he needs you most, Bell !_ she reprimanded herself. _What kind of a mother are you to just *leave* your child when he's hurt ?_ She bit her lip, fighting the urge to slosh her way up the Hill and bring her son home. _He can't be moved, you know that,_ she thought, trying to be reasonable. It was hard to be reasonable when her whole mother-instinct was screaming at her to run and grab her child. _He's warm an' dry an' safe, an' that's all he needs, Bell Gamgee,_ she said sternly. _Frodo'll take care of him, I know it. He loves my boy. Sam'll be safe. He'll be alright._ She took a deep breath and turned back to her family.

« Well, then, » she said. « Best get supper started. » Her daughters began assembling the ingredients for a beef stew, and she rummaged about in the cupboards for cookware. Her sons lingered a long moment, uncertainly.

« Mum ? » said Hamson.

« Hmmm ? » she asked, turning to him. He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair, and braced himself for a 'no'.

« Can we – Halfred an' me – could we go see him ? » he asked, readying himself for disappointment. _Worth a try, anyway,_ he thought. _Just want to see 'im. Make sure he's alright. _Sam's older brothers loved him dearly and were fiercely protective of him. _He just seems so – breakable,_ they thought. Their slender, beautiful little brother looked so fragile to them, who both had strong bones and muscular builds. They were constantly afraid he'd get lost or hurt one of these days, wandering around with that far-off look in his eyes, _an' never paying no attention to where he's going. Least Frodo was with him an' brought him back._

They both liked Frodo a great deal, and trusted him with their brother. _Two of kind, they are,_ Halfred had said to Hamson the day they first met Frodo. They had been surprised. Dark and slender Frodo, with his wide blue eyes that held the same distant look Sam's had – _he's more like Sam than any of us, an' we're family !_ Hamson had exclaimed. They were glad of it now. _He brought 'im back,_ they thought, and silently blessed Frodo. Now they stood, watching their mother half-expectant, half-wary.

« Yes, » said Bell, and they sprinted for the door. « Wait ! » she called after them. They stopped and turned around. Bell smiled apologetically. « Not till tomorrow, » she said. « They're sleeping now. »

« Oh, » said the brothers, their voices heavy with disappointment.

« Sorry, lads, » said their mother. « I want to see him, too. But they need their sleep. They were caught in the storm for hours, an' they're probably sick. They need to rest. » The boys sighed, and began helping her with getting the supper ready.

« Sam ? » said Marigold softly, looking at her mother questioningly. Bell smiled at her, a little sadly.

« Not tonight, wee lass, » she said. Marigold frowned at her, confused.

« Why ? » she asked in her little voice.

« He's staying with Frodo, » Bell said. « You remember Frodo. » Marigold thought a moment. « Blue eyes, dark hair – you remember him, » Bell coaxed. « He carries you. » Recognition dawned in Marigold's face, and she nodded. « Good girl, » her mother congratulated her. « Sam's just staying with Frodo for a while. » 

This Marigold could understand, and her worries disappeared. So long as her favorite brother was with the nice, dark-haired boy she liked so much, then everything was alright. She smiled.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

They had eaten their supper and cleared everything away. Bell and Hamfast kissed their children goodnight and sent them off to their bedrooms before retiring to their own. Bell stood in front of the mirror in her nightgown, brushing her long, dark hair slowly and thoughtfully. Her eyes were distant and troubled, and Hamfast came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. She turned to him, a bit startled, and he smiled at her.

« Not to worry, lass, » he said softly. « He'll be alright. » Bell nodded, blinking hard against the tears that had leapt to her eyes. Turning her to face him, Hamfast looked into her eyes. « He'll be alright, » he repeated gently. She laid her head on his shoulder and wept. 

« I left him, I just _left_ him, » she said against the fabric of his tunic. He held her tightly and rubbed her back.

« Shhh, lass it's alright, he's alright, » he soothed.

« But he _needs_ me an' I _left_ him there ! » she cried. « How _could_ I ? »

« Because Master Bilbo is a good man, an' we trust him. Because young Frodo an' him solidly refused to be separated. Because he's alright, » Hamfast said firmly. « He's alright, Bell. »

« I want my baby, » she wept into the curve of his neck. « I want my baby, I want my baby, I want my baby… » Hamfast held his wife as she cried late into the night, until she was simply too tired to cry anymore. Then, still holding her close, he got them into bed. _Ah, Bell !_ he thought, looking down into her sleeping face. She was a beautiful woman, and she looked beautiful now, her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked and her long, dark hair spread over the pillows. He kissed her softly, and they slept.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

« Daisy ? »

« What ? » 

« I've got Mari. Could we sleep in here ? » May whispered. Daisy threw back the covers on her bed and her two younger sisters climbed up beside her, May drawing the covers over them again. They moved closer together, Marigold between her older sisters. They talked over the top of her head. 

« Will he be alright, do you think ? » asked May.

« I hope so, sister, » Daisy whispered back. « But we can't know till we see him. »

« D'you suppose they'll let us see him tomorrow ? »

« I'm pretty sure of it, » said Daisy. « An' I'm determined to, whether or no. »

« How do you mean ? » asked May. « If they say no, we can't just go anyway. »

« Why not ? » Daisy shot back. « I'm seventeen, I'll do what I want. An' I'm taking you with me. »

May considered this. « Alright. But if they say no, how're we goin' to visit him ? »

« We'll go to Bag End an' ask to see our brother, » Daisy said. « Master Bilbo'll let us in, that I'm sure of. » May grinned.

« He always liked us, didn't he ? » she said, very pleased. Then she remembered Sam, and was worried again. « What if it's real bad ? » she asked. 

« Well… » said Daisy, biting her lip. « Oh, May ! I don't want it to be bad ! He's just so small and pretty. I can't bear to think of him hurt, » she whispered unhappily.

« Neither can I, » May agreed. « Well, it can't be _that_ bad. I mean, if it had been, Mum an' Dad would never have left, would they ? »

« No, they wouldn't, » Daisy said with relief. « So it can't be _too_ bad. »

« Maybe he'll come home in a few days, » May said hopefully. Daisy frowned.

« An' maybe not. His ankle's broken, they said, and it ain't safe to move someone as has broken bones. » Now May frowned.

« No harm hoping, sister. Least he's with Frodo. That'll make him happy, » she whispered.

« They're two peas in a pod, those two, » Daisy remarked. « An' it's strange – he's so much older than our Sam. »

« That don't mean a thing an' you know it, Daisy, » May said. « Friends is friends, an' age don't make no difference with love. » Daisy paused a long moment.

« He _does_ love him, doesn't he ? » she said softly.

« Who ? Sam or Frodo ? » asked May.

« Both. They love eachother, don't they ? I mean, it's obvious, isn't it ? » Daisy asked, half-hoping for a 'no'.

« Yes, Dais. They love eachother, » said May gently. Daisy sighed heavily.

« He's a nice person, is Frodo, but – » she hesitated. 

« But ? » asked May.

« I always sort of hoped we could just – well, just keep Sam for us. An' never have to share him, like. He's such a pretty child, so sweet and gentle, but smart as a whip an' the practicallest little thing I ever met. He's special, May, really _special._ I just want to keep him. But he loves Frodo an' Frodo loves him, an' he's not ours to keep anymore. I miss him already, » she said sadly. May reached across Marigold and took her sister's hand, holding it tightly.

« I know, » she whispered, tears in her eyes. Daisy wiped her free hand across her eyes and cleared her throat.

« Least we'll see him tomorrow, » she said bravely. May smiled through her tears.

« Yeah. Tomorrow, » she said. Holding their little sister between them, they slept.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The older brothers shared a room, and they whispered across the space between their beds.

« He'll be alright, won't he ? » Halfred asked. 

« I don't know, » Hamson said irritably. Anxiety made him sharp.

« Well what do you _think ?_ » asked his brother, just as irritably. Hamson sighed.

« I really _hope_ he'll be alright, brother. But I don't know an' I can't say for sure till we see him. » 

« Tomorrow, Mum said. I wish we didn't have to wait I'll never get no sleep worryin' over him like this, » Halfred said.

« Me neither, » his brother agreed. « Maybe we should stop worryin' and just think about it in the morning, » he suggested. Halfred snorted.

« Good _luck !_ » he said sarcastically. « Just _try_ thinkin' about something else. Go on, try it, » he said.

« You know I can't, » said Hamson angrily. He sighed again. « He's warm an' safe an' dry an' his hurts have all been tended, like. Don't know why we're worryin'. »

« Because he's Samwise, » Halfred said simply. 

« He's _special_, » Hamson said heavily.

« You say that like it was a bad thing, » said Halfred with mild surprise, sitting up in bed to face his brother. Hamson pulled himself into a sitting position and crossed his arms over his chest thoughtfully.

« No. Not a bad thing, » he said. « But a worrying thing. »

« Why ? »

« Think about it, brother, » Hamson flashed. « Sorry. I'm just tense, is all. »

« S'alright, » Halfred said. « So'm I. So why is it a worryin' thing ? Him being special, that is. »

« You know that look on his face – all starry and distant. Like he was a million miles away from us, living in the kingdoms of them Elves he loves so much. He's different, brother. He's so very _different_ from the rest of us. Save Frodo. »

« Two of kind, like I said, » said Halfred. « They both have that look in their eyes. An' they're both so uncommon slender. An' beautiful. Never would've thought boys could be beautiful, but those two – » he shrugged.

« It's just he's so – _breakable,_ if you follow me. They both are. So slim and pretty and far-off. It's like they don't really _see_ the world 'cause they're living somewhere in their heads, » said Hamson, struggling to explain. 

« More like they see it, but aren't a part of it, » said Halfred. « They belong someplace else. »

« Some_time_ else would be nearer the mark, » muttered Hamson. « But you're right. They belong in one of Master Bilbo's stories, they do. S' the feeling I get when I see them, anyway. I'm just worried that the real world'll catch up with them one of these days, an' they'll get hurt. »

« Not our Sam, » Halfred said staunchly. « He's too practical. »

« Which explains why he's laid up at Bag End with a broken ankle and the Father knows what else, » Hamson said sarcastically.

« It was an accident, brother ! Mum said so ! Could've happened to anyone, » Halfred said, defending his absent younger brother.

« An' so it just happened to him, is that it ? It was just a coincidence ? » Hamson asked. « D'you _really_ believe that _anythin'_ as happens to our Sam is a coincidence ? » Halfred sighed in defeat.

« No, » he consented. « Well, if it ain't coincidence, then what ? Destiny ? Come on, brother ! »

Hamson considered this. « Well… maybe it _was_ destiny, » he said slowly and thoughtfully. 

« D'you really think so ? » asked Halfred, curious.

« Could be. I mean, now he an' Frodo have met and they're friends an' all. He's been wanting that for weeks and weeks an' now it's happened. All because he broke his ankle. It _could_ be a coincidence. It could be just about anythin'. But I don't think so, » Hamson said.

« Well, think what you like, brother, » said Halfred. « I'm officially worn out. We'll see him in the morning, an' then we can decide. So good night. »

« Night, Hal, » said Hamson, and lay back against his pillows. Both of them lay awake awhile longer, staring into the darkness and thinking about their younger brother.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N : Next chapter, they visit and we're back to Frodo and Sam ! But I had to give a little time to the Gamgees. Sam _is_ their favorite child/sibling after all. ^_^ Review ! I'll update soon, I promise !


	18. Getting Dressed

****

Author Notes : Ah, my loyal reviewers. *smiles benevolently at you* shirebound – any family that wouldn't worry about its children is dysfunctional to the Nth degree. Coming from a large, close-knit, Italian family, I wouldn't know. So the Gamgees care, and care deeply for their sweet and wonderful little boy. ^_^ TK – thanks ! I try to make it believable. More Frodo and Sam for you to gush about in this chapter. Please, gush away ! I encourage gushing ! Tigrin – I've always believed that love transcends years ^_^ Don't be nervous ! They'll get better ! tiggivon – I thought it was a nice twist, too. I mean, _nobody_ ever writes anything about Sam's family. So I did. And to leave your child when he's sick – I can't even imagine how hard that must be. Butterfly – wai ! wai ! my boof has reviewed ! what a loyal and loving boof ! What did I ever do to deserve you ? Je t'aime toujours ! IloveSam - *winces* Sorry if I went a little overboard. I wrote the last chapter in kind of a rush, and didn't have time to read it over and edit it. I'll try to keep sweetness levels up, but saccharine levels down, okay ? ^_^ Mistress-Samwise - you go 'yee-yay !' too ? I thought that was _my_ sound of hyper-happiness ! Btw, I wrote a new fic called « Going On ». Sam-Frodo PG-13. Check it out ! Major Sam angst. *kisses her Sam doll*. So, I think that covers last chapters reviewers. Trills, when you have time to read this – you are the greatest, the absolute greatest ! You give me such encouragement ! Here, have a cookie ! Okay, this is the next morning. We're back to Bag End and our beautiful boys.

« Frodo ? Samwise ? » Bilbo said softly, stepping into the bedroom. The boys were fast asleep, curled close together under a tangle of blankets. Frodo's arms were still tight around Sam, his face pressed to the curve of Sam's neck. They were both frowning intently in their sleep, and Bilbo wondered what it was they were dreaming. _My boys,_ he thought fondly, and walked to the bedside. 

Taking hold of Frodo's shoulder, he shook it gently. Frodo shrugged him away and tightened his arms around Sam. Bilbo smiled, amused, and shook Frodo's shoulder again, this time with a little more force. Frodo woke with a start and stared up at him blankly for a moment. Then recognition flashed in his eyes, and closing them, he sank back down onto his pillows.

« What ? » he mumbled sleepily. Sam, beside him, had felt Frodo awaken, and his own eyes opened. He looked at Bilbo without comprehension before looking to Frodo. _Who - ?_ he asked. He was so tired and disoriented, he wasn't sure where he was or what he was doing there. _Bilbo,_ Frodo answered. _Go back to sleep._ Sam nodded and closed his eyes again, but Bilbo shook his shoulder, too, and he looked up. His mind was clouded with sleep and pain, and all he could think to say was, « Go away. »

Bilbo burst out laughing at this, thouroughly confusing the small boy who looked up at him tiredly. « Sorry, Samwise, » Bilbo said. « But I've got to feed you. »

« Feed us ? » asked Frodo. « But it's still dark out. It's too early for food. Or anything else, for that matter, » he said, and pulling Sam closer to him, he closed his eyes. It was indeed still dark out. The rain had continued all through the night, and though it was no longer quite the flood it had shown itself to be at first, it was still a very heavy rain. Low, grey clouds were all that could be seen, turning the sky the color of wet stone from horizon to horizon. Bilbo had brought a candle in with him to light the room, and in its dim, yellow flicker, it still seemed to be night time. 

The time was, in fact, ten-thirty in the morning. The boys had been sleeping since eight o'clock the previous evening, and Bilbo was of the firm opinion that growing boys – especially sick growing boys – should not go more than twelve hours without food. He would have woken them at eight, but they were sleeping so heavily he just let them be. Now, however, they were awake, and he was going to see that they got breakfast.

« Actually, nephew, it's ten-thirty, » he said. Frodo opened his eyes again and frowned at him.

« Impossible, » he said. « We haven't been asleep for that long. »

« You're cursed, » Sam said suddenly, and coughed. Bilbo raised his brows.

« What's that supposed to mean, lad ? » he asked. 

« Frodo – » _cough_ « Frodo said that – » _cough, cough_ « that he was going to – » Sam broke off completely as the coughing grew worse. Frodo sat up and pounded him on the back until he choked, and breathed again. _Are you alright, little one ? _he asked. Sam nodded. _You said you were goin' to sleep for a hundred years an' a curse on the person who woke you,_ he said. _So Master Bilbo's cursed._ Frodo grinned at this. _I was teasing, Sam,_ he said. _Besides, Bilbo's too nice to curse, don't you think ?_ The hobbit in question had no idea what was going on as they looked at eachother, their eyes brightening and smiles growing on their lips.

« Going to what, Sam ? » he asked.

« I said I was going to sleep for a hundred years, and a curse on the person who woke me up. So Sam says you're cursed. You woke me up, » Frodo explained, trying to hide a smile. Bilbo grinned back at him.

« Oh, I am, am I ? Well, if that's the way you feel about it, I suppose I won't be giving you breakfast after all, » he teased. Frodo, now fully awake, was suddenly, almost painfully hungry.

« Sorry, Bilbo, » he apologized hastily. « We didn't mean it . » Bilbo laughed.

« It's alright, cousin. I didn't mean it either. See if you two can get up and force yourselves to the kitchen sometime in the next half-hour, alright ? »

« Alright, » they said in unison.

« Good boys, » he said, and left the room. 

__

Get up, Frodo thought. _Alright. I can do that._ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, clutching at the blankets as a wave of dizziness washed over him. His head started to pound and he realized suddenly that not only his head hurt, but his throat and his chest and his entire body hurt as well. _So maybe I can't do that,_ he thought dryly. _Maybe I should wait a while before I try this again…_He fell back against his pillows, and felt a jolt of pain go through Sam. _Don't bounce,_ the child instructed. _Sorry,_ said Frodo. _Well. And how are you doing this morning, Master Samwise ?_ Sam giggled at the formality of Frodo's tone. _Leave off,_ he said laughing. _I'm alright. My ankle hurts somethin' terrible and my head feels like it's full of rocks and my chest feels like it's full of water, but I'm alright. _Frodo began to laugh. _Good grief. If that's 'alright', I'd hate to see you on a bad day,_ he teased. Silver tingled in his mind, and he laughed again. 

Then his breathing hitched, and he began to choke, going from laughing to struggling for air. Sam sat up and pounded his small fists against Frodo's back, though it didn't do much good. Frodo's cheeks were red and turning darker, and he twisted the blankets between his fingers as he choked. Then the tightness in his chest loosened suddenly, and he coughed, a deep, wet, ragged cough. He tasted salt and something else that he didn't want to dwell on. _Handkerchief,_ he thought, fumbling with the drawers in his nightstand and pulling out a handkerchief. Fortunately, it was not a new one, nor one of Bilbo's good linen ones, because Frodo put it to his mouth and spat. _Yeccch,_ he thought disgustedly. The phlegm he had coughed up was yellow, streaked with darker gold. Frodo balled the handkerchief up and threw it into the fire, where it quickly incinerated. 

He felt a small soft hand on his shoulder, and turned. Sam was looking at him warily. _You're alright now ?_ he asked. Frodo thought a moment. His chest ached from the coughing fit and his throat felt torn and raw, but he could breathe again. _I suppose so,_ he said. He sat a long moment on the edge of the bed, letting the pain ebb. _Does your throat hurt ?_ he asked Sam suddenly. The little boy nodded. _How about your chest ?_ Sam nodded again. _I hurt where you hurt,_ he said. Frodo groaned and closed his eyes. _Perfect. Just perfect. I bring you all the way home through the wind and the lightning and the pouring rain with a broken ankle and a bleeding foot I get you warm and safe and dry and all your hurts tended to. And then what ? I give you bronchitis. Some friend I am,_ he thought unhappily. _You brought me all the way home through the wind and the lightning with a broken ankle and a bleeding foot you got me warm and safe and dry and healed. I had bronchitis anyway,_ Sam said gently. _An' even if I didn't, you're still my best friend._ Frodo smiled half-heartedly.

« Well, thanks, » he murmured. « But I still feel rotten. » A picture formed in his mind of the hollow, and him rocking Sam to sleep as they hid there from the drenching rain. He turned to the child questioningly. _You're still my best friend,_ Sam said again. Frodo reached out and tousled his hair and they looked at eachother for a moment, smiling. Then, with a sigh, Frodo got to his feet. He clutched the edge of his nightstand, somewhat unsteady on his feet. When he got his balance, he went over to his chest of drawers. _Have to get dressed,_ he thought tiredly. _I don't want to get dressed. My head hurts too much for me to get dressed. _He laughed shortly at the ridiculousness of the thought. _What exactly does my head have to do with my getting dressed, anyway ? Alright, clothes…_

Pulling open one of the drawers, he searched through it disinterestedly for a moment, not really caring what he found. _Something warm,_ he knew he wanted. He was feverish, and being feverish made him cold. Getting out of bed made him colder, and he was shivering a little as he stood there, lifting folded tunics one by one and considering them. _Not a one that's warm enough for me._ He was frustrated, and pulled open another drawer. Still nothing. The third drawer contained breeches, the fourth, sashes. _These aren't any good till I find a tunic to go with them ! _Frodo slammed the drawers shut irritably, and pulled open the last one. He froze. _Frodo ?_ Sam asked, confused at his sudden silence. _Frodo, what's wrong ?_

Frodo couldn't move, could barely even think as he crouched there, staring. The large oak drawer was almost empty, except for three things, neatly folded and laid in the back corner – a heavy black woolen tunic, black breeches, and black sash. Funeral clothes. Frodo had neither worn them nor seen them since his parents were buried he didn't know he still had them. Bilbo, when helping him pack, had folded these up and placed them in Frodo's chest of things. They were good clothes, winter clothes, heavy and warm and soft. Despite the bad connotations they might have, they were still good for several years of wear. When he and Frodo had arrived at Bag End, he had taken them and placed them in the bottom dresser drawer. There they had lain, for more than two months, forgotten.

Frodo stared at them, open-mouthed. All the color had drained from his face. He remembered, and did not want to remember – the sight of the coffins, so small, too small to really hold his parents, as they were lowered into the ground the heavy sound of dirt hitting the lids, and the utter finality of that moment. He remembered the crumbling feel of the soil in his hand, as he threw in his handful over his parents' grave. It was warm that day, too warm, and the clothes were too hot and too heavy. He remembered the salty taste of the sweat that trickled down his face – sweat, not tears. He was still too shocked for tears. The sun was too bright and the air was too still, as though the world had fallen silent in mourning. He remembered all this, so suddenly, so vividly it physically _hurt._

__

Frodo, Frodo, it's alright, he heard the boy soothe him. _They're just clothes._ He nodded and swallowed. _Right. Just clothes._ With trembling hands, he reached out and touched rich dark fabric. _Just clothes,_ he realized, with a sobbing breath of relief. He didn't know what exactly he'd expected them to be, but the sight of them had terrified him beyond reason. Now, holding them, he knew that they were just cloth. Cloth and thread, and nothing more. The tunic was heavy and soft, and he realized it was probably the warmest thing he owned. For a moment, the thought of putting on his 'funeral clothes' to keep warm sickened him. He moved to place them in the drawer and slam it shut. Then his innate practicality won out. _They're just clothes,_ he thought. _And they're the warmest clothes you have. So stop dawdling and put them on._ Standing slowly, he undressed, and very, very slowly put the clothes on. Sam had said nothing during all of this, but Frodo felt the mental equivalent of a steadying hand on his back, and was deeply grateful to him for it. The tunic slipped over his head, and then he tied the sash around his waist, making the knot tight. This finishing gesture served to dissolve the uncertainty in his mind, and he stopped feeling so strange. _Just clothes,_ he said again, and nodded to himself.

Finding clothes for Sam was easier, and he quickly picked out a thick grey tunic, not unlike the one he had worn the night before. Finding a black sash to go with it, he returned to the bedside and helped the child dress. The blue tunic he laid aside, for Sam to wear later. Helping Sam get the grey tunic on and tying the sash about his narrow waist, he stood back and surveyed his handywork. Sam looked at him expectantly, and he smiled. _You're pretty,_ he told him, and Sam smiled back. 

« Are you boys dressed ? » Bilbo called from the hallway. « Breakfast is ready ! »

« Hungry ? » asked Frodo.

« Not really, » Sam answered. « But seein' as he went to the trouble of making it… » Frodo laughed.

« Alright, then. Here, put your arms around my neck. Tell me if I hurt you. One, two, three… » he lifted Sam into his arms. Sam winced, but did not cry out, and Frodo was relieved. « Good. Let's go eat. » And he carried Sam down the hallways to the warm, bright kitchen of Bag End.

~*~*~*~*~*~*


	19. Feverish

****

Author Notes : I'm ba-ack… Sorry I took so long ! shirebound – I took your advice and got Mistress Bell. I'll take care of them, no fear ! And hey, I updated my Rohirrim story if you're interested. Thanks for reading it ! ^_^ TK – gushing is wonderful ! I wouldn't stop you for the world ! Sorry I took so long to update, I've been writing other things. tiggivon – yeah, I wanted to show how grief doesn't just magically disappear. I thought the funeral clothes would be something really angsty to do to Frodo glad you thought so, too. ^_^ Tigrin – consider yourself lucky. I've been hospitalized six times for pneumonia, and each time it started out as bronchitis. It majorly, _majorly_ sucks. Butterfly – a boof in shock ! What do I do ? How do I save you ? Oh, dear, oh, dear – I know ! Have another chapter ! I'll mail you when my stupid mail-server is back up ('down for 24 hour maintenance' yeah right ! *grumbles* I hate computers) HappyBunny - *giggles* OhGreatest ? I like the title ! Mistress-Samwise – just saw your review for 'Because of You'. Awesome ! Attention, my loyal subjects ! I've just been crowned Queen of LotR fanfiction ! lol ! You can be my lady-in-waiting, alright ? ^_~ IloveSam – whew ! glad to know I'm back on track ^_^ I'm really sorry your grandma died. My condolences to you. *hands you a condolence and a cookie* So. Now they get to be sick together. (Awww…)

Bilbo was humming softly to himself as he set the table. He had laid out a veritable feast for the boys, and was feeling rather proud of his culinary efforts. Bilbo was an exceptional cook, and he had been up since dawn (dark and chill though it was) cooking up a storm for Frodo and Sam. _Food's what they need. They have to keep their strength up, especially Samwise. Broken bones cause fevers and infections, which lead to all sorts of complications. And he's so young, he's just not strong enough for complications. Not to mention that 'complications' might be catching, and Frodo's not too strong, himself._ With these thoughts firmly in mind, he laid an elaborate breakfast for them, completely clearing two of his pantries of food. 

When Frodo and Sam appeared in the doorway, Bilbo just barely kept from exclaiming over Frodo's attire. With a supreme effort of will, he forced himself to look normal, as though completely unfazed by the fact that Frodo was wearing his funeral clothes. Frodo looked terrible, exceedingly pale with dark shadows under his eyes and a fever-bright glitter in them that did not bode well. The black fabric accentuated his extreme pallor, and his blue eyes seemed huge in his weary face. He looked as though he could fall asleep standing there, holding Sam. Sam, Bilbo noticed, was not pale, but flushed. His cheeks were burning scarlet, his eyes glazed with fever and heavy lidded with exhaustion. He was already half-asleep in Frodo's arms, his legs dangling. Bilbo saw a dark stain on the bandage round his foot – he had bled through it in the night. _Oh, Valar defend us,_ he thought. _Complications._ With a forced smile, he spoke up.

« Good morning, lads ! » he said cheerfully, relieved that his voice was steady. « Sit down, sit down ! No, not there over here, by the stove. You need to keep warm. » He ushered them over to the chair at the long table closest to the stove, and pulled up another one for Frodo to set Sam on. Frodo sat, wearied by their short walk down the hall, and closed his eyes. _I want to go back to bed,_ he thought to Sam. Sam had been eyeing the vast amount of food laid out for their consumption, and was beginning to feel a little panicked. _I'm not even hungry !_ he said to Frodo. _How're we supposed to eat all this ?_

Frodo opened his eyes, which widened dramatically when he saw just how _much_ Bilbo had prepared for them. _Oh, dear Eru !_ he thought. _I have no idea. He must think we're starving to death ! ~ Well, we have to eat it, don't we ?_ asked Sam. _He went to all the trouble…_ The thought was tinged with dismay, and Frodo looked down at him, confused. _What's wrong with eating it ?_ he asked. _At least some of it, anyway. I don't think he'll make us eat it all._ Sam sighed and closed his eyes. _I just don't feel good, is all_, he said. The poppy-tea had completely worn off, and the pain in his wounded limb was making him rather sick. The idea of eating so much food wasn't helping any, and he was doubly dismayed at feeling obliged to eat it. _I don't want to throw up on him,_ he thought. _Who ?_ Frodo asked. _You,_ Sam replied. _Or Master Bilbo. Or anybody. I don't want to throw up at all, but I will if I have to eat._

Frodo made a face at the idea of the little boy getting sick all over him. _You know, Sam, I don't feel so good myself,_ he said, and it was true. He was dead tired and he hurt all over, and when he thought about it, he wasn't really hungry at all. True, he hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before, but he was so _tired._ All he wanted to do was sleep. Food could come later. And if eating was going to make Sam sick – well, then, that decided it. He loved Bilbo dearly, he really did, but he would rather disappoint his cousin than force his friend to eat. And he _so_ wanted to go back to bed… _I'll tell him we're just not hungry, alright ?_ « Alright, » Sam mumbled against his neck.

« What's that ? » asked Bilbo, thinking one of the boys was speaking to him. Frodo took the opportunity to present the problem. He cleared his throat.

« Nothing, cousin we're just… » here he lowered his eyes, embarrassed. « Well, this is all lovely and we do thank you for your troubles, but, well – we're just not hungry, you see. » He blushed, and bit his lip, looking up at Bilbo and feeling rather guilty and ungrateful. Bilbo, to Frodo's dismay, looked crestfallen, and he half-considered revoking the statement and eating anyway. Then Sam spoke up.

« We're sorry, sir, really, » he said softly. Bilbo managed a smile for him.

« It's perfectly alright, young Samwise, » he assured him. « But surely you could eat _some_ of it ? You're both sick and you're injured, Sam. You need to keep your strength up. »

« That's just it, cousin, » said Frodo. « We're both sick. And being sick has rather killed our appetites, so to speak. » He was feeling even guiltier than before, and wishing hard that he could change it all and make it so they could appreciate Bilbo's efforts. 

« Oh, just a little something, » Bilbo coaxed. _I see the problem they don't feel well enough to eat much. Surely just a little something couldn't hurt…_

« No, sir, » said Sam, « I can't. » Bilbo frowned.

« What do you mean, you can't ? Of course you can ! Here, I'll make up a plate for you – »

« _No,_ sir ! » Sam said with more force. « I can't ! » Bilbo frowned again, perplexed. It wasn't like Sam to be so childish.

« Whyever not, Samwise ? » he asked. Sam laid his head on Frodo's shoulder and closed his eyes again. Frodo spoke for him.

« He'll be sick if he eats, » he explained. Bilbo looked at him skeptically.

« Neither of you have eaten since yesterday morning, » he said. « Sam just feels sick because he's so hungry. »

« No, cousin, » said Frodo, who was beginning to feel exasperated. « He feels sick because he's in pain. If you make him eat, he'll throw up. I guarantee it. »

« Oh, nonsense, » Bilbo began.

« No, sir, _not_ nonsense ! » said Sam, lifting his head and looking at him again. « Please, Master Bilbo, I know you went to all th' trouble of makin' this, an' I'm grateful, truly sir. But I can't eat, I just can't. Please don't make me, » he said, his tired eyes wide and a bit pleading.

« Please, Bilbo, » said Frodo plaintively. « You'll just make him miserable. Please. » Bilbo sighed and relented.

« Alright, lad, alright. I won't _make_ you do anything. Nor you, Frodo. But tell me – what am I supposed to do with all this food ? » he asked.

« Sam's family would appreciate it, I'm sure, » said Frodo, who was standing to go, one arm around Sam and the other against the edge of the table, supporting him. « We're going back to bed, » he said tiredly. « Sorry for making you go to all this trouble, but… » he shrugged. Bilbo patted him on the shoulder.

« Not at all, Frodo. Think nothing of it, » he said, though still rather disappointed. « You go get some rest, now. The Father knows, you need it. » Frodo smiled weakly, and Bilbo was again struck by just how pale he was. _Too pale, too tired. And his eyes glitter too much and too brightly._ He shook his head, worried, as he watched Frodo walk back down the halls, Sam still in his arms. _Sick because he's in pain, he said. I should make him some more of that tea…_

Once back in their room, Frodo set Sam on the bed and built up the fire again until the chill was taken from the room. He almost fell asleep, crouching there by the fireplace, feeding kindling to the flames. The warmth of the fire, the smell of the burning wood, and the quiet crackle of the flames all served to lull him into a semi-conscious state from which he would not have awakened had it not been for the sudden cramps in legs. _I should stand up,_ he told himself, and forced himself to do so. Turning, he saw his Elf-child curled up on the bed, already fast asleep. He smiled and climbed up onto the bed beside him. Sam did not waken as Frodo lifted him carefully and pulled the covers over them both. _Pretty boy,_ Frodo thought affectionately, and kissed his soft golden hair. _Such a pretty boy…_ and with that, he fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bilbo threw on his cloak and walked down the Hill through the rain to #3 Bagshot Row. He knocked on the door, and Bell opened it. 

« Master Bilbo ! » she exclaimed. « What – I mean, why – well, that is to say – »

« They're alright, Bell, » he reassured her, and she relaxed. « I'm only here to ask if you would have breakfast with me. You and your family, of course. » Bell looked surprised.

« That would be lovely, sir. I'll get the others. Come in, come in ! » she said, but Bilbo shook his head. 

« I'll meet you up at the house, » he said, and smiling, walked away.

Ten minutes later, there came a knock at the door, and opening it, he found seven rather wet but cheerfully smiling Gamgees. « Good morning ! » he greeted them. « Come in, before you're all drowned. » He ushered them in and they removed their cloaks and hung them up, following him into the kitchen and looking somewhat bemused. None of them had any idea what this was about, as it wasn't often Bilbo had invited them to his table. Coming into the kitchen and seeing the enormous breakfast laid out, their eyes widened and they all gasped appreciatively. Bilbo grinned.

« Thank you, thank you, » he said. « Sit down ! The boys would be joining us, but they're sleeping now, so I think we should let them rest… » The others nodded their agreement, and in a few moments, they had all set to, with many exclamations over Bilbo's culinary prowess. Bilbo's pride, somewhat injured by the boys' lack of appetite, was enjoying a thorough boosting. When they had finished, and Bilbo was assured that four hours' worth of cooking hadn't gone to waste after all, they all sat back and sighed.

« That was lovely, sir, » said May, and Bilbo smiled at her.

« Thank you, Miss May. I do try my best. » 

« And you succeeded splendidly, sir, » said Bell, who stood and began collecting the dishes for washing. Her daughters stood also and assisted her, except Marigold, who sat in Hamson's lap.

« How're the lads doing ? » asked Hamfast, concerned with things more serious than breakfast.

« Ah, well, » Bilbo began, and hesitated. « Not too well, » he said after a pause. Bell turned to him from the sink with a worried frown.

« How do you mean ? » she asked. 

« They're both coughing pretty badly, and they're feverish, for sure, » he said, and gave her the run-through. « Their eyes are too bright, Frodo has no color and Sam has too much, their glands were swollen, from what I could see, and neither of them has any appetite. Sam could hardly stomach the _idea_ of breakfast, and Frodo looked too tired to care, so I sent them back to bed. They're so deeply asleep, I doubt they'd wake if lightning struck the house, or even the bed they're sleeping in. And Sam has bled through his bandages. » His spirits, which had risen briefly during the breakfast, fell again. _That sounds even worse than it looked._

Seven pairs of eyes watched him anxiously, as if waiting for something. He wondered what, and then it struck him – permission. He coughed, embarrassed, and continued. « So, if you'd see to them, Bell – I don't know much about medical matters… » he trailed off, and Bell nodded. 

« Surely, Master. If you'll show me to their room. » Bilbo felt relieved, for this, in truth, was the _real_ reason he had invited them to breakfast. Bell's healing skills were greater than those of all the neighbor-women, and they were also readily available.

« Right this way, » he said, and led her out of the kitchen.

« Finish the washing-up, girls, » she called over her shoulder to her daughters. Bilbo took her down the hallways till they came to the round, closed door of Frodo's room. He knocked softly, but there was no answer, so he carefully opened the door.

The boys, of course, were in the bed again, and in exactly the same position they had been in earlier – curled around eachother and buried under blankets. The fire was built high, and the room was very warm, almost uncomfortably so. Bell walked to the bedside and looked down at them, smiling a little. Then she rolled up her sleeve and pressed her wrist to Frodo's forehead. She frowned, and laid her hand against his cheek. Her dark eyes widened, and she turned to Bilbo. 

« Wet towels ! Cold ones ! » she whispered urgently, and Bilbo departed, even more worried than before. He returned a few minutes later with several towels, all damp and as cold as he could make them. Bell had pulled the blankets off the boys and folded them back at the foot of the bed. Frodo frowned, and shifted, tightening his arms around Sam and pressing his forehead against Sam's neck. « No, no, no, lad, » Bell murmured, prying his arms off of her son. Frodo pulled away, and his eyes opened. 

_This is too strange,_ he thought blankly. For a moment, he thought he had come full circle and this was his first waking. But that did not explain why Mistress Bell was here, pulling him away from Sam. « Stop it, » he protested, but sleepily. Bell smiled, and slipped an arm around his shoulders to help him sit up. « Mistress, stop, » he said again. 

« Sorry, Frodo, » she said. « But your fever's up, and we've got to bring it down. »

« Fever ? » Frodo said, confused.

« Yes, fever, » she repeated. « You have a fever, because you're sick. It's gone a bit too high for your comfort or your health, and we have to bring it down. So sit still. » Her tone was no-nonsense, and Frodo stopped arguing. He drew a sharp breath when the cold, wet handtowel was pressed to his brow, and Bell smiled apologetically.

« Sorry, » she said. « Here, lay back now. » She lowered him back onto the pillows and walked to the other side of the bed to deal with her son. « Samwise ? Samwise ? » she called softly, and lifted him into her lap. _What - ?_ « Mother ? » he mumbled, his eyes still closed. She kissed him and held him tight._ Baby, my baby, my Samwise…You're so hot !_ She put him back at Frodo's side, but reluctantly, and bit her lip when he curled close against him without opening his eyes. Frodo ran his fingers absently through Sam's hair and watched her as she pressed her cool wrist to Sam's forehead. She looked so worried, Frodo sat up and took notice. 

« What ? What is it, Mistress ? » he asked. 

« He's so hot, » she murmured. « You're both so hot… Oh, this isn't good this can't be good… » Bilbo, standing by with his arms full of cold, wet towels, got the brilliantly practical idea of putting them in a bowl. Fetching the basin from Frodo's washstand, he put all the towels in it and handed it to Bell, who took two towels, one for Sam and the other to replace Frodo's, which had grown warm already. The boys blinked as the cold drops ran into their eyes, and opted just close them entirely. Bell continued this cold-water treatment until the towels ran out, some twenty minutes later. By then, Sam and Frodo had fallen asleep again. 

« Has it helped, do you think ? » asked Bilbo quietly as she finished up. Drying the boys' hair with a _dry_ handtowel, she once again pressed her wrist to their foreheads. She smiled, satisfied, and Bilbo smiled back. 

« They'll be alright. For a while, at least, » she said. 

« For a while, » Bilbo said. And they went to rejoin the others in the kitchen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Oh, my! But there's still so much left to write! They're just _beginning_ to get sick! Please review, people! Je vous aime toujours! 


	20. Worsening

****

Author Notes : shirebound – yes, food is indeed the universal cure ^_^ Just ask any Italian ! And as for Italian _grandmothers_ – well, I'll never starve, anyway. Amanda – hi, girl ! Nice to hear from you again ! No storytime in this chapter – not officially, anyway. tiggivon – ugh, I know. And being in pain – when I broke my leg, just _thinking_ about food was too much. Too much pain and too many narcotics just – ugh. Poor Sam ! I'll take care of him, though. Tigrin – hey, I read your fic (and reviewed, of course) ! It was great ! All of you people who read this reviewers' section, go check it out ! Yeah, they sort of share the illness through their connection. *sniff* Poor boys… IloveSam – yeah, I'm evil. ^_^ I don't want them to get better so fast either, 'cause I just want to keep writing and writing and… anywho. ^_^ Mistress-Samwise – I fully intend to read your stories and give you long reviews ! ^_^ Starting tomorrow, I promise. TK – ooo, sorry about your headache. O_O Icky. I hope you're feeling better now ! *hands you an aspirin and a cookie* When in doubt, eat chocolate, say I. Coby Dick's Gurl – awesome nick, for starters ^_^ Secondly, thanks for reading ! Thirdly, silver = laughter/amusement. Okay ? Okay. Marz – hi to you too ! Writing happily, I assure you. ~_^ Glad you like the story so much ! HappyBunny – wow. That starvation thing sounds awful. Really hope you're okay now ! Here, have a cookie just in case. *hands you cookie* And the best for last - *drumroll, please* - Butterfly ! Da-dum ! Hey, girl ! Can't wait to hear from you, will write soon, I promise ^_^ Love you ! So. Onto the actual story…

« Can we see him ? » Sam's four older siblings asked in unison. Bilbo raised his brows at the coincidence and looked at them strangely. _Odd,_ he thought, and shook his head. 

« Sorry, » he said, « but they really do need their rest. »

« But – » Daisy began.

« No buts, lass, » said Hamfast. « If Master Bilbo says no, then no. »

« But _you_ said we could see him, Mum, » Daisy said to her mother, frustrated. Bell sighed.

« Yes, I did, daughter. And you can when they're feeling more up to it, but not now. »

« _Why_ not ? » asked May. Their brothers were watching all this with something between anticipation and amusement. 

« They're headed for a thorough grounding, both of 'em, » whispered Halfred. Hamson nodded and hid a smile.

« Bullheaded, they are, » he whispered back. « Obvious we're not goin' to see him today. Why push the matter ? » They shook their heads and continued watching.

« Because they're sick, lass, » said Bell, looking exasperated. « I told you. They're sick an' they need to rest. »

« Master Bilbo – » the sisters appealed, but Bilbo held up his hands.

« I'm sorry, girls your mother's right. They need to rest and that's all there is to it. You can go see your brother later. » They both looked extremely disappointed, but as it was Bilbo's house, his word was law. They weren't going to see their brother today. With a heavy sigh, they turned back to the dishes. Bilbo sat down at the table and took Marigold from Hamson, bouncing her on his knee. She giggled and began playing with his pocketwatch. Tousling her curls, he looked to the other adults. 

« Hamfast, I hate to steal your wife away from you, but if it's not too much to ask, could you stay here for today, Bell? » he asked. « As we've said, they're both sick – you know how high their fevers are, and you know better than I how high they might get. Bronchitis they have I'm hoping to keep it from turning into pneumonia. I'm not a healer, I don't pretend to have any expertise, but you learned from your sister, Bell, and whatever skills she taught you would be immensely appreciated. » Bell and Hamfast looked at eachother and made a silent decision.

« As long as you need me, sir, » she said.

« An' if there's anything else we can do, don't hesitate to ask it, sir, » said Hamfast. Bilbo was tremendously relieved.

« Thank you, both of you, » he said. « I'm so grateful – I really have no idea how to take care of them. I'd probably end up making it worse. » He said it with a light laugh, but he meant it.

« Oh, that's not true, sir, » said Bell. « But I'll do what I can to help. »

« As for the rest of us, » said Hamfast, standing, « we'll be off home, now. Come along, children ! » he said. Bilbo handed Marigold back to her brother and stood as well. 

« I can't tell you how much I appreciate this – » he began, shaking Hamfast's hand. The gardener smiled, a bit bemused.

« No trouble, sir, no trouble. We love Frodo like a son, an' Samwise _is_ our son. We'd take care of them, regardless. » Bilbo smiled back.

« Well, still – thank you. » The children had gone out to the front hall and put on their cloaks, and the adults joined them. Bell kissed her husband goodbye, and then each of her children. She and Bilbo bid them farewell, promising to fetch them if things took a turn – for better or worse.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo became aware of a terrible ache in his head as he returned slowly to consciousness a few hours later, and a strange, rumbling feeling in his chest. He yawned, waking up, and the rumbling surged up his chest and caught him at the throat. He began to cough, and cough, and cough, and whatever it was that was caught in his throat only seemed to grow worse with the coughing. Air simply could not be had, and he felt like he was breathing through a straw.

Bell, who had been talking with Bilbo in the living room, paused suddenly and looked to the hallway.

« What is it ? » asked Bilbo. She got up and seemed to be listening to something.

« The boys. Frodo, I think. He's coughing fit to burst, » she said, walking swiftly from the room. Bilbo stood and followed her. 

__

Air. Need – air. But try as he might, Frodo couldn't dislodge the blockage in his throat. His lungs began to burn and he was starting to see little bursts of color before his eyes when Bell came in. In one step, she was at his side, and flipping him over onto his stomach, she delivered three swift, sharp blows to the small of his back with the heel of her hand. Frodo choked, and she held out her handkerchief for him to spit in, frowning at the dark gold color of the mucus. _Dark color means a bad infection,_ she remembered her sister saying. She shook her head and threw the handkerchief away before returning to Frodo, who lay panting on the bed. 

« Is tha alright, lad ? » she asked softly, slipping back into her childhood accent. Frodo nodded, still panting, and she turned him so he lay on his back again. « Here, lad, sit up now – there's a good boy… Breathe deeply, Frodo, deeply – yes, like that… » Slowly, his heart rate returned to normal, and he could breathe again. The coughing had trebled the pain in his head, and he felt like he had torn his throat out. _Oh, Father,_ he thought miserably. _Make it go away…_

« I'll make that chamomile tea again, » said Bell. « That should help some. And some more of those cold cloths, too. Your fever's up again.» 

« I'll take care of those, » said Bilbo, and they made to leave the room.

Sam, remarkably, had slept through all of this, and though Bell and Bilbo were relieved, Frodo was suddenly uneasy. _I'm awake, why hasn't he woken up ? _A vague anxiety began to cloud his thoughts.

« Wait, » he called hoarsely as the adults walked out the door. Bilbo stuck his head back in and frowned at him.

« Is something wrong ? » he asked, worried. Bell came back in and they both looked at him questioningly.

« What about Sam ? » Frodo asked, his gaze flicking down to the small boy who slept on, curled against him. He focused his thought on Sam's and found there a pounding pulse of red and black smothered under a deep grey mist, but still far too vivid for Frodo's comfort. Some of the pain was his own, he realized, shared by this bond of theirs. But most of it was Sam's, and that wasn't good. He looked to the adults for help.

« What about him ? » Bilbo asked. « He's alright just let him sleep. »

« But he's _not_ alright, » said Frodo. _He's not. He's worse than I am. Oh, why can't you just talk like this ? My throat hurts too much to talk aloud._ Bell seemed to understand, and came back over to the bed. Bending over, she touched her son's forehead. She looked up at Frodo and raised her brows questioningly. 

« He's fine, » she said. Frodo shook his head, and wished he hadn't. _Ouch,_ he thought.

« He's sick, » he whispered. Bell shook _her_ head.

« No worse than you, » she said. « Even a little better. Your fever's risen, but his hasn't. He's alright, lad, trust me. »

__

I *can't* trust you, Frodo wanted to say, but talking hurt his throat and he didn't want to insult Bell. He just gave her a skeptical look. She smiled, a bit amused at his doubt, and she and Bilbo walked from the room.

« Are you sure he's alright ? » Frodo heard Bilbo ask her, as they stood in the hallway outside the closed door. « He _is_ sick, and what with his ankle… »

« He's fine, Master, no question, » he heard Bell reassure him. « He's fever_ish_, but he hasn't got a fever like Frodo's, an' I haven't heard him cough like Frodo, either. »

« But he _was_ coughing last night, » Bilbo said.

« That's so, but maybe he just caught a passing chill, » said Bell reasonably. Frodo heard Bilbo sigh.

« I suppose so, » he said. « We can hope so, anyway. » Their footsteps moved outside his door and down the hallway until he couldn't hear them anymore. _Passing chill,_ he thought sarcastically. _If only ! He's got what I've got, I know it. But still – his fever's not up, and mine is…_ He laid his hand gently on the child's forehead, and frowned when he did, indeed, feel it to be cooler than his own. _No, this isn't right._ The vague anxiety grew in him, but took no shape. He was worried, very worried, but he couldn't say why for the life of him. _He's sick, he's sick, I *know* it. Something's wrong, something's very wrong. But what ?_ Bell came with her chamomile tea and Bilbo with some more cold, wet, handtowels, and between the two of them tending him and his thoughts in an anxious whirl, he fell asleep again. _Something's wrong,_ he thought again, before the grey mist overtook him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the late afternoon, Frodo woke again to the sound of the rain pounding against his window. He felt a little better – his head was clearer and his breath came easier, though he was dizzy when he tried to sit up. He saw a bundle of knitting on the chair by the fireplace, and frowned at it, confused. His confusion cleared, however, when Bell entered the room. She came in silently and closed the door very quietly behind her, thinking the boys to be asleep. She started a little when she turned and saw Frodo's eyes open.

« Afternoon, lad, » she greeted him softly.

« Mistress, » he said, returning the greeting.

« And how does thee feel, then ? » she asked.

« Better, » said Frodo, and again tried to sit up. She came over and helped him, leaning him back against the pillows. He closed his eyes again for a moment and Bell smiled at him fondly. Reaching out, she checked his temperature.

« Ah, that's why, » she said with satisfaction. « Your temperature's down. »

« Oh, » said Frodo, too tired to really care. His head didn't hurt so much, and that was all that mattered to him. « What time is it ? » he asked.

« Round about four-thirty, » she said. « You've been sleeping for hours. Only woke once, coughing. »

« Did I ? » asked Frodo. He didn't remember any waking between this morning and this afternoon.

« Aye, » said Bell, nodding. « Towards noon. It wasn't so bad as this morning, though, an' you didn't cough anything up. You just coughed for a while, an' went back to sleep. »

« Oh, » Frodo said again. They sat in silence a few moments, till he asked, « What about Sam ? »

« He woke twice, to ask for water, » she said. « An' a third time when we had to change his bandages. »

« Change them ? » Frodo asked. _And some water would ease my throat a little,_ he thought. « Could I have some water ? » he asked. Bell stood and poured some into a glass from a pitcher on his nightstand. She explained as he was drinking it that Sam had bled all through his bandages and onto the sheets while he slept. 

« We'll change those sheets tonight, » she assured him. « Just move you two into the adjoining room for a bit, an' we'll strip 'em off. » Frodo nodded.

« Is he alright ? » he asked. Bell hesitated.

« He's _mostly_ alright, » she said. « The blood was just blood, and the wound still looked pretty clean. We washed it in scalding water, just to be sure, but it doesn't look like he has any infection. And if he did, his fever would be much higher, so I don't think he does. » Frodo nodded again, slowly. _Infection. I hadn't thought of that._ He was about to ask her what they would do if the wound _was_ infected when he felt Sam waking beside him. The grey mist around the child's thoughts dissolved, leaving a storm of red and black before Frodo's mind's eye. 

Sam stirred and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning to Frodo. _Hey, little one,_ Frodo said gently. _How are you ? ~ I hurt,_ Sam answered tiredly. 

« Hey, baby, » Bell said, coming to his side. « Do you want some water ? » Sam nodded, wincing a little at the pain that shot through his head. Frodo pulled him into a sitting position, with his head resting on Frodo's shoulder, and Bell handed him a glass of water. He took it and drank, slowly for the pain in his throat. When the glass was empty, Frodo took it from him and handed it back to Bell. « How do you feel ? » Bell asked her son.

« My ankle hurts, » he whispered. « Lots. » Bell bit her lip.

« I'm sorry, baby, » she said. « I'll make you some more of that tea with the poppy-tincture. » Sam nodded and she left the room. Frodo cradled him on his shoulder and they sat in silence, resting until she came back. He ran his fingers through Sam's hair, enjoying, dimly through his discomfort, its light and silky feel. _I like your hair,_ he thought sleepily, and was rewarded with a very faint flash of green. 

Bell returned, bearing a tray with an enormous mug of tea on it. 

« Is he going to have to drink it all ? » asked Frodo, much surprised. Bell laughed.

« Not all at once, if that's what you mean, » she said. « Half'll take the edge off the pain right fast, an' make life bearable again. The rest is for him to work on later – hot or cold, it'll do the same job. Here you go, Sam, » she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the mug to his lips. With Frodo's help, he sat up a little more, and drank. _Ick,_ he thought at the bitter taste, and Frodo smiled. _It's good for you,_ he thought with mock-sterness. _Well it still tastes awful,_ Sam answered, but already the red and black was dimming, fading under the soft, pale cloud the poppy-juice induced. By the time Sam had finished the required half-mug, he was feeling better. He lay back against Frodo's shoulder, and in a few minutes, the tea had taken its full effect. His thoughts were a little thick, but he felt much, much better, and thought so to Frodo. Bell smiled at them both.

« Are you feeling well enough for a little soup ? » she asked. « Just something to keep your strength up. » Sam and Frodo looked at eachother, considering.

« A little, » they decided in unison, and Bell laughed.

« Alright, then, » she said. « I've had some warming for you I'll bring it here. »

« Mistress ? » asked Frodo. « Where's Bilbo ? »

« Reading in the living room, » she answered. « Do you want to see him ? »

« It would be nice, » Frodo said, feeling a bit childish. 

« I'll fetch him, » Bell said smiling, and left the room. She returned a few minutes later with another tray, this one holding two small mugs with spoons, and handed each of them a mug. It was a vegetable soup, filling, but not too rich, and they ate it quietly. Bilbo came in holding a stack of books, and Sam and Frodo looked up in surprise. He sat down in the fireplace chair, and, choosing a book, began to read to them. It was one of his many, many collections of Elvish legend, and Sam's green flash of delight made Frodo laugh. Bilbo smiled at them and continued reading. Frodo felt warm and loved and protected, and more part of a _family_ than he had felt since his parents died, as he lay there in bed with his Elf-child leaning against him, eating soup and listening to stories while the rain poured down outside. Later, when they were finished, he wrapped his arms around Sam – already fast asleep – and slept, for the first time since the Accident, without any thought of his parents, and in perfect contentment.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: this doesn't count as storytime for our boys, don't worry. They'll get another chapter for that. ^_^


	21. Infection

****

Author Notes : I'm really, really in a rush, no time for a reviewers' section. Sorry, guys ! I love you all ! To my new reviewers – so glad you found this story and are enjoying it ! *cookies for everybody* You're all the greatest, I love you forever, etc, etc. ^_^ 

__

Sam ? Sam, where are you ? Where did you go ? Frodo thought to the child. A heavy anxiety was on him, though he didn't know why, and he felt like he had been searching for ages. He was walking through trees, tall trees, and the long grass caught about his feet, slowing him down. He pulled free and walked more quickly, and his uneasiness increased. _Something's wrong,_ he knew. _Something's wrong with him._ The stars burned like torches in the sky, unnaturally large and bright and close._ It's so hot,_ he thought. _Hot and breathless._ _Sam ? _Faint silver laughter glittered on the air, and he went towards the sound. He walked forward and came to the end of the trees, and found himself standing on the edge of a wide field. 

__

…barefoot in the night, I'll dance, with starlight in my hair. His own soft voice sang back to him, and an unseen flute took up the melody, sounding hushed in the still, heavy heat. In the center of the field, his Elf-child danced, clad all in white with a silver circlet shining in his thick, golden hair. Faint with relief, Frodo ran to him, but he slipped, falling hard to the ground. When he moved to raise himself again, he felt a wetness on his hands, and saw they were slick with blood. He stared at them, horrified, and then at Sam, whose dancing feet left a spreading red pool on the ground behind them. 

_Sam !_ he cried, but his voice fell dead in the heat, reduced to a strained whisper. Sam didn't hear him, and danced on, heedless of his wounds. _Sam !_ Frodo cried again, reaching out for him. _Wait ! Stop ! _The music quickened, and still the child danced, moving to the rhythm effortlessly as the pace grew faster and the song, louder. The noise made Frodo's head ache, the heat was thick and suffocating, and the stars grew huge and blindingly bright. Their white light merged together and the sky was filled with flame, against which he could see Sam's dancing silhouette. Then there was a tremendous crash, the white sky turned blood red, and the child disappeared.

_No !_ Frodo screamed, and woke. He was sitting up in the bed, breathing hard and sweating more, his heart pounding. The room was cool and dark and quiet, with no light but the faint red glow of the embers on the hearth, and no sound but his own ragged breathing and the soft chime of his beside clock sounding two. He jerked around to where Sam slept, and saw Sam was half-kneeling, bending over the edge of the bed as though looking for something. His first reaction was intense relief, and crawling over to where Sam knelt, he threw his arms around him and held tight. Blue surprise flashed bright in his mind. _Frodo ?_ Sam asked, looking to him.

« You're alright, » Frodo whispered. _Praise the Father, you're alright, you're alright, you're alright… *Are* you alright ?_ he asked, and sat back, noticing now how badly Sam was shivering. _I'm cold,_ the boy answered. _I can't sleep, so I was goin' to get some more of those blankets from th' chest. But it feels like knives when I move my leg, an' I can't reach. I didn't mean to wake you…_ ~ _No, you didn't that was – something else. Hold on a moment,_ Frodo instructed, and fumbled with the matches on his bedside table. Striking one, he lit the candle there and leaned over the end of the bed. He opened the chest and pulled out all the extra blankets and threw them onto the bed. Then, closing the chest quietly, he sat back and looked at Sam.

Sam's eyes looked very strange, and Frodo couldn't make out why. _Look at me,_ he said, laying his hands on the boy's slim shoulders and looking at him intently. _What's wrong with his eyes ? I don't – _then realization struck him. Sam's eyes were so glassy Frodo could see his reflection in them and his pupils were hugely dilated. _This is bad, this is very bad. I *knew* you were sick ! Why didn't they believe me ?_ _Oh, what do I do ? I don't know what to do…_

Sam's shoulders shook under Frodo's hands as he shivered. _I'm cold, _he whimpered, but Frodo felt the heat rising from his skin. _Little one ?_ he thought worriedly, and pressed his wrist to Sam's forehead. « _Ilbereth !_ » he swore, barely remembering to keep his voice down. Even Frodo could tell that Sam's temperature was dangerously high. Listening, he heard the roughness in Sam's breathing, and he became aware of a stickiness on his legs. He looked and saw the spreading red stain on the sheets below. Sam's white linen bandages were soaked through, and stiff with dried blood on the edges. 

There was a smell, sweet and faintly putrid, in the air. _Infection,_ Frodo thought. _Oh, dear Father, not that._ People _died_ of infected wounds, he knew, or were permanently crippled by them. Some had whole limbs amputated, including his cousin Rollo, who had torn his foot on a piece of rusted wire and almost died from the ensuing fever. Now he had only one leg – the other stopped at the knee. It was the only way to stop the spread of gangrene, they said, but Rollo had been Frodo's friend at times, and when Frodo went to see him, he had been appalled. _They took your leg ? !_ he remembered saying, his young soul filled with pity and horror. Rollo did well enough with just one, but he would always be a cripple and it burned him with shame. 

__

It can't be infected, it just can't, Frodo thought, his mind turning again to the present, and to the child who shook with fever-chill. Taking one of the blankets, he wrapped it around Sam's shoulders and held him close. His thoughts were racing. _What do I do ? He's so sick, he's so hot, he's got an infection, oh Father, what do I do ? Mistress ! She'll know !_ But Bell had gone home long since, leaving shortly after the boys fell asleep. Frodo, however, didn't know this, and getting shakily to his feet, he picked Sam up. _Come on, I'm taking you to your mother. She'll know what to do,_ he said with as much confidence as he could muster. Sam nodded wearily and set his teeth against the pain that shot through his leg. _I will not cry,_ he told himself harshly. _I won't, I won't, I won't. He's got me an' I'm safe an' we're goin' to get Mum, so I'm alright an' I've got no business crying. I won't cry. I won't._ None of this stopped the tears from sliding heavily down his flushed cheeks and making Frodo's shoulder damp.

Frodo carried him through the hallways, looking in every bedroom for Bell – but, of course, she wasn't in any of them. Bag End was a veritable mansion, and Frodo had looked in ten bedrooms already. The blood-dark waves of pain that drowned the child's thoughts washed over him and made him feel sick and faint. _He needs help, you idiot,_ he reprimanded himself. _Faint now and you'll be no good to him – nor to anyone else, either. Be strong._ But Frodo, too, was sick, and his fever was high and his breath came short and with difficulty. Being strong was already hard, and it was getting harder. Only Sam's slight body burning in his arms gave him the resolve to keep looking, or he would have sunk down with his back to the wall and fallen asleep again.

__

Where is she ? Frodo thought, a bit panicked. _Alright. Alright, calm down,_ he ordered himself. _She might not be here. This is taking too long. Get Bilbo. Yes, Bilbo he can help…_ He hadn't thought of his cousin before, but now it seemed like an excellent idea. _I'm taking you to Bilbo, Sam, _he said, but the boy was in too much misery to answer. _Right, then,_ Frodo thought, and walked back down the hallways to his cousin's room. Sam's small foot was still bleeding badly, and the drenched bandages began to drip. The blood made a soft, splashing sound as it hit the ground, and Frodo grimaced. He walked as quickly as he dared and came to Bilbo's door. He half-considered knocking, but decided the gravity of the situation outweighed ritual courtesies by far, and opened the door. 

__

There you are, Frodo said to Sam, laying him in the fireside chair. _Stay still, I'll wake him._ He walked over to the bedside and shook Bilbo's shoulder lightly. « Bilbo ! » he whispered. Bilbo frowned in his sleep, but did not waken. Frodo shook harder. « Bilbo ! » he whispered again, more loudly. « Bilbo, wake up ! » Bilbo woke with a start and looked up at him crossly.

« What ? What is it ? Is the house on fire ? » he asked.

« No, » Frodo answered, confused. _Why should the house be on fire ?_ he wondered.

« Well, then, » said Bilbo, and closed his eyes again. Frodo breathed out shortly, annoyed.

« Bilbo ! » he said, and raised his voice. It hurt his throat to do it, but he overlooked that for the time being.

« Oh, for the Father's sake, » Bilbo muttered under his breath, opening his eyes again. « Cousin, do you _know_ what time it is ? » Frodo glared at him.

« Yes, I _know_ what time it is ! » he said. « It's two o'clock. »

« Well, whatever it is, it can wait until a less ungodly hour, » said Bilbo, and started to close his eyes again. 

« _Bilbo !_ » Frodo said sharply. His tone made Bilbo sit up and look at him closely. His pale cheeks were now darkly flushed and his blue eyes glittered with fever. Bilbo remembered now that Frodo was ill, and was wondering whether he might be delirious. _It would explain this behavior, anyway,_ he thought. 

« Yes ? » he asked, in far more civil tones than before. 

« Sam's sick, » said Frodo. « Very sick. »

__

Sam ? Bilbo had forgotten temporarily that Sam was even in the house. _Oh, Sam. Oh, dear,_ he thought. « How – that is to say, when did you – ? » he asked.

« Half an hour ago, quarter of an hour. I don't know, » said Frodo irritably. « But he's burning up and his foot's bleeding something awful. » Bilbo got out of bed and put on his bathrobe. 

« Where is he ? » he asked, expecting Frodo to lead him back to his bedroom. Consequently, he was extremely surprised when Frodo turned round and lifted the child out of his fireside chair.

« I brought him here, » Frodo said in answer to Bilbo's look. « I thought Mistress was still here, but we looked and she wasn't. So I brought him to you. I thought you might know what to do with him, » he said, and raised his brows questioningly. Bilbo hesitated.

« Well – set him on the bed, I suppose, » he said, and Frodo sat down on the bed with Sam in his lap. _First things first, Bilbo Baggins,_ he told himself. _Temperature._ He laid his hand against Sam's cheek and then his wrist against Sam's forehead. « Varda in Valinor ! » he swore, and he _didn't_ keep his voice down. Both Sam and Frodo flinched at the pain the sound caused them, and Bilbo bit his lip apologetically. « Sorry, » he said more quietly. « How long has he been like this ? » he asked Frodo, who shrugged.

« I've been awake less than an hour, » he answered. « I don't know. Could be that long, probably longer. Bilbo – » Frodo paused, looking down to Sam and then up to his cousin. 

« Yes ? » said Bilbo. Frodo looked down at Sam again, and his expression was almost afraid.

« Bilbo, he – he's got an infection, » Frodo said, looking as though he half-expected lightning to strike him for the remark. Bilbo's eyes widened. 

« Are you sure? » he asked. « Don't go jumping to conclusions, now it may be something else. »

« I'm sure, » Frodo whispered.

« _Absolutely_ sure ? » Bilbo asked, wishing fervently for a 'no'. His heart sank when Frodo nodded, and sank even further at the tears that filled his cousin's large blue eyes. _Oh, *no*,_ he thought grimly, and looked to Sam again. The child lay shivering in Frodo's arms, his fair face flushed and heavy tears slipping from behind his long, black lashes. His bandaged foot dripped dark blood onto the floor, and Bilbo, too, could smell the sick-sweetness of infection. He closed his eyes a moment. _Pull yourself together, Bilbo, or you'll be no good to either of them._

« Sam ? » he said, crouching down beside them. « Look at me. Can you look at me ? »

__

Open your eyes, little one, Frodo said gently, and Sam opened them. Bilbo stared at him, trying to make out why he looked so strange. Then, as with Frodo, he realized – _I can see my reflection ! Dear Eru, his eyes are like glass !_ Sam's pupils were so large his eyes looked black, and the pain in his young face was almost too much to bear. Bilbo could see he was trying to be brave, and gave him a half-hearted smile. « I need to check your foot, » he said softly. « I'm going to have to take off the bandages. Alright ? Can you hold still for me ? » With his strange, self-controlled maturity, Sam nodded.

« I'll try, » he whispered. 

« Bravo ! » Bilbo congratulated him, patting his shoulder lightly. But the instant he began to unwind the bandages, Sam cried out, startling him. What startled him even more was that _Frodo_ had cried out as well. Looking up at them, their expressions were the same, and Bilbo felt very odd. He moved to continue unwinding them, and Sam bit back a scream.

« Bilbo, stop, » said Frodo breathlessly. « Please, just stop. » Tears were running down his face, and had Bilbo not known better, he might have assumed Frodo was the injured one of the two. His nephew looked down from him to Sam, who had his arms around Frodo's neck and his face buried in Frodo's shoulder, sobbing quietly. Frodo's expression changed, and Sam hiccuped and nodded. He looked up and their eyes met, and again – as two days before – Bilbo saw the strange intensity that burned between them. Frodo kissed Sam's burning forehead and looked to Bilbo again.

« He wants his mother, » Frodo whispered. « Please. » Bilbo hesitated, and nodded.

« I'll – I'll go get her, then, » he said. « They said anything, anytime… I hope two in the morning isn't too early, » he said under his breath, and got to his feet. « Stay here, » he instructed the boys. « Or rather – Frodo, take him to the adjoining room and light the fire in there. »

« Why there ? » Frodo asked. 

« You said he bled everywhere, I assume that means the sheets as well, » Bilbo said. « So go to the room adjoining to yours and light the fire there. You can stay there for the rest of the night. Meantime, I'll go get Bell. » Frodo nodded and stood, slowly. He walked haltingly from the room and disappeared down the hallways, and Bilbo frowned after him anxiously. 

_Complications,_ he thought. _I had hoped we could avoid them. _Sighing heavily, he threw on some clothes, grabbed his cloak, and walked out the front door sloshing his way to Bagshot Row through the driving rain.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: I'll make him better, I promise! Please don't throw things at me! 


	22. Sick All Night

****

Author Notes : First things first – reviewers' section. tiggivon – aww, I made you cry ? That means it was a good description, yes ? ^_^ Have a Kleenex and a cookie. And another chapter. Amanda – oh, no, Frodo's perfectly right to be so anxious. *sniffs* Poor Sam… *lower lip begins to tremble* But I'll make him better ! Just not in this chapter… *grins* thanks for not throwing the spork. Butterfly - *quirks an eyebrow* Bubblegum Crisis ? You people in Hampshire are _weird._ j/k ! It's such a – such a boof-like thing for you to watch ! ^_^ F.C.A.S., yes, I'm a chronic sufferer, apparently. Love you, will write soon ! shirebound – I know, my head hurts so awfully when I have a fever. Icky. And wouldn't it be terrific if people could actually communicate like that ? (Well, between soulmates, anyway. If just _anybody_ could read my thoughts, I'd be terrified.) And you'll _have_ to endure, 'cause they're being so brave. Our sweet boys… IloveSam – yes ! I got your email ! And I'll write soon, very soon, I promise, but my crappy mail server is down _again_ and when it's not, I don't have time to write ! *sighs heavily* Hey ! Don't throw things at me ! I love Sam, too ! But angst is essential to the plotline… ^_^ Mistress-Samwise – angel wings ? Oh, c'mon ! You've gotta explain that ! I'm dying of curiosity, seriously ! *pleads for explanation* Please ? Please please pretty please ? You can't refuse the Queen, can you ? Criminy, how much does your backpack weigh ? *hands you several aspirin and another chapter* Hope this helps. *looks at you worriedly* Mish – poor, deprived reviewer. ^_^ Here's another chapter for you to work on, and sorry it took so long for me to update ! Yes, angst is good, very good. Have some more ! Tigrin – if you love reading it, I love writing it ^_^ TK – ooo, perfect timing on my part then, huh ? ^_^ I love Bilbo, he's so great. Tersa – hi ! I _love_ new reviewers ! Mackrel, herring – it's still very weird, _so – _I wrote another chapter ! Yay ! ElvenPickle – yeah, I really wanted to show the closeness between them. I'm glad you approve of the way I went about it. So, finally. Onto the story. Major, major angst ! 

Frodo had to pause several times to catch his breath as he carried Sam back to the bedroom, and his head kept spinning with dizziness. He stopped just outside the bedroom door and sat down with his back to the wall. _Sorry, Sam,_ he said. _I need to sit for a moment catch my breath._ His lungs burned as though he'd just run a race, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to get enough air. He felt faint, lightheaded, and decided that sitting down was a far better idea than fainting and dropping the boy. Sam didn't seem to care either which way, being barely half-conscious, so Frodo sat and closed his eyes. _Bilbo's gone to get your mother,_ he told Sam. _So she can … she can take… care.. of .. you…_ He was young, he was sick, he was achingly tired, and closing his eyes was all it took for that to catch up with him. He had been moving on adrenaline, born of his extreme anxiety for Sam, but the adrenaline was gone and in moments, he was fast asleep. The soft, grey mist of his tiredness covered Sam's thoughts, and the child slipped gratefully into unconciousness.

So Bell and Bilbo found them, some twenty minutes later. The walk down the Hill and back up again was very slippery, and took time, and Bell had naturally had to get dressed. But now she was here, and Bilbo led her through the halls to Frodo's room and the room adjoining. They halted, surprised to see the boys sitting in the hallway, and it took a moment for them to realize that they were asleep. Bell knelt down beside them and stroked Frodo's hair. 

« Wake up, lad, » she said softly, but Frodo didn't. She turned to Bilbo. « Help me carry them, » she said, lifting her son from Frodo's arms. _This_ brought Frodo fully awake, with a suddenness that set him coughing again. His cough sounded worse, much worse than it had earlier, and it took longer for the fit to pass. Bilbo pounded him on the back, but Frodo coughed nothing up, and this was worrying to Bell. _Hmmm. Infusion of bluebells should bring that phlegm up,_ she thought. _We'll try that._ « Carry him in, sir, » she said to Bilbo, and walked into the bedroom. 

Bilbo picked up his nephew with an ease that surprised him greatly. _Dear gods, but he's thin !_ he thought. Frodo was unnaturally slender for a hobbit, so was Sam, but Bilbo had never before realized just _how_ slender he was. The teenager in his arms weighed practically nothing, and Bilbo found himself wondering whether anyone so thin could survive the ravages of fever. _And infection, in young Samwise's case._ He shook his head and carried Frodo into the bedroom.

Bell had laid Sam on the bed and was busy lighting the fire. The room was a little too cool for comfort, and to the boys it felt positively frigid. Sam, half-awakened by his separation from Frodo, was convulsed with shivers, and Frodo wasn't doing much better. Bilbo placed him on the bed next to Sam and went off to fetch all the extra blankets he could find. He went to Frodo's room first – it being the closest – and grabbed the blankets from the bed there. As he did, he pulled back the sheets a little, and his eyes widened.

__

Bleeding something awful, Frodo had said. Now Bilbo believed him. The great, dark stain spread across the lower half of the bed and had soaked through the sheets above. The blood was still sticky and wet, and the smell of infection was strong. Bilbo grimaced in disgust and threw the covers back over the stain. _We can take care of that later,_ he decided, carrying the blankets back to the boys. The fire was burning brightly and had taken the chill from the room already. Bell had tucked Frodo in, but not Sam, under whose bleeding foot she had placed her folded cloak. Bilbo handed the blankets to her and went off in search of more. As he left the room, he heard Sam's small, soft voice saying, « I'm so cold, Mum, I'm just so cold. » 

« I know, baby, » Bell murmured. « An' we're trying to help, so you just lay still. » 

_He will, too,_ Bilbo knew, surprised, as always, by the small boy's maturity. _How many children would be throwing a fit right now, and screaming, and crying, and refusing to cooperate – but not him. He's like Frodo. They're both so… self-controlled. Self-contained. Two of a kind, they are. Small wonder they've become friends. Though it would be easier if they weren't absolutely inseparable. I wish I knew what that was all about. They only met two days ago one generally doesn't think of friendships this close forming that fast. But they're both a little strange. Not very hobbitish at all. They suit eachother, I suppose._ He sighed as he went from bedroom to bedroom collecting blankets till he couldn't carry any more. _This ought to be enough, even for them,_ he thought, and, staggering a little for his load, brought them back to the room and dropped them on the floor by the side of the bed.

Frodo had turned on his side and wrapped his arms around Sam, in a manner that was quickly becoming familiar to them. His body heat warmed the child somewhat, and Sam pressed closer to him. Bell was gone, and Bilbo looked around, confused. « Cousin, do you know where she went ? » he asked.

« To the kitchen, » Frodo mumbled, his face pressed against Sam's neck. Bilbo walked from the room and met her coming down the hallway, her arms full of things. 

« Want some help ? » he asked. Bell nodded gratefully.

« Please, » she said, and Bilbo took from her a bowl, several towels, and the bottle of brandy. She carried a larger bowl, full of cold compresses, a huge roll of bandages, and the small, blue bottle that contained the poppy-juice. When they had brought these to the bedroom and placed them on Frodo's desk – the largest space available – Bell walked back to the kitchen and returned with the tea-kettle, honey, and a basket of various teas and herbal what-nots that she had grabbed off the shelves. She was listing them in her head and considering what her cousin had taught her. _Chamomile for their sore throats, valerian to help them sleep, peppermint to soothe their stomachs – high fevers cause stomach upset… That leaves bluebell for the coughing an' deer's tongue for the fever…if an infection's what Sam's got, then echinacea's the thing. _

Once _these_ had been set down, she went to the bathroom, filled the tea-kettle, and hung it over the fire to start the water boiling. Then they turned their attention to the boys. They could hear Sam's teeth chattering from across the room, and his small form shivered violently in Frodo's arms. Bell, removing her cloak from beneath his foot, found it soaked almost all through, and was alarmed. _Makes no sense why should it be bleeding so badly ?_ she thought. Hobbits have amazing healing abilities, being an extremely resilient people, and Sam's wound should have been healing already. It _definitely_ should not be bleeding as though freshly opened. Bell considered taking the bandages off immediately, but remembering the pain Sam had been put through when the bandages were first wrapped on, she paused. _I should make him that tea, first. That'll make this easier on both of us._ _Wait – does he still have some left from last night ?_

She got up abruptly and walked into Frodo's room. Sure enough, the half-full mug was still there on the bedside table. She took it and brought it back to Sam. _Alright, baby, sit up,_ she thought, and slipped her arm beneath his shoulders to support him. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, and she held the mug to his lips. He swallowed, made a face, and swallowed again, drinking till it was empty. He had already learned that, awful as it tasted, it worked, and worked fast. Bell gave it a few minutes to take its full effect, and laying him back down, placed a towel under his foot and began the careful task of unwinding his bandages.

Sam was aware of a terrible pain that went through his foot and leg at each movement, but it was as if he were detached from it, an impartial observer. The shivering slowed, too, though he was still bitterly cold. All his muscles relaxed, and he went limp. He didn't like this feeling, this – detachedness, that made him feel a stranger to his own body, but it was better than the alternative. He lay still as his mother unwound the bloody bandages, that stuck to eachother and smelled strongly of infection. 

When, at last, Bell was finished, she threw the dripping mess into the bowl Bilbo had carried. The deep wound on Sam's small foot hadn't even _begun_ healing on the contrary, it looked even worse than before. Dark blood ran freely from it, and the edges were inflamed and discolored. _There's our infection,_ she thought. _Adder's tongue ointment for that – do I have any ? _She rummaged through the jars, bottles, and boxes she had thrown into the basket, frowning deeply. _No, no, no – ah, what's this ?_ She held up a small, ceramic jar. It had something painted on its side in Elvish, but Bell couldn't even read the Common Tongue, so that was no help. She opened it to see what was inside, and a slightly acrid scent reached her nose. _That's the stuff,_ she thought with satisfaction. _But I'll have to clean 'im up, first._

Bilbo, meanwhile, had managed to ease Frodo's grip around Sam's waist sufficiently to lay his nephew on his back, instead of his side. Then he took the cold compresses and began applying them to Frodo's forehead. _Not *again*,_ Frodo groaned mentally. _As if I wasn't cold enough already !_ The water trickled into his dark curls and down his scalp. It felt like ice, and Frodo, who was already shivering, fought the urge to pull the washcloth from his forehead and fling it at Bilbo. _Be reasonable,_ he told himself sternly. _He's trying to help. Yeah, well, I'm freezing to death,_ came the rather petulant answer. Frodo was not at his most rational at two o'clock in the morning, and especially not with a high fever. 

When Bilbo took the one washcloth from his forehead and replaced it with another, Frodo lost his temper and his struggle. Letting go of Sam abruptly, he grabbed the washcloth, sat up, and – with a supreme effort of constraint – pressed it firmly into Bilbo's hand. He had really wanted to throw it across the room, but he sensed that this would not ingratiate him with his cousin. Nor would it be a seemly thing to do in front of his best friend, who, Frodo had to admit, was behaving far better than he himself was. _And he's twelve years younger and in much more pain,_ he knew. _So behave yourself, Frodo Baggins._ Having given the washcloth back to his astonished cousin, he lay back against the pillows and wrapped his arms around Sam again.

« Frodo, cousin, » Bilbo said. « You need to sit up. I need to put this on your forehead again. »

« No, you don't, » Frodo said. Bilbo raised his brows.

« Yes, I do, » he protested.

« Well, I won't sit up, » Frodo said stubbornly.

« Why not ? » asked Bilbo. Frodo paused. He hadn't expected Bilbo to ask he had expected an argument, or a lecture of sorts.

« I'm cold, » he said. « And those things are only making it worse. And I'm dead tired and I just want to sleep and I can't do that when you're busy putting those things on me. And they're wet, and they make my hair wet, and I don't like them. » Bilbo considered this.

« Those are all very reasonable arguments, » he consented. « But you're cold because your temperature's so high, and you're tired because you're sick, and unless we can bring your fever down, you're only going to get sicker. So I have to put 'these things' on your forehead to try and cool you off. I'm sorry you don't like them, but Sam doesn't like the poppy-tea Bell keeps giving him, and he drinks it. » Frodo sighed heavily, defeated.

« Well, hurry it up, already, » he said crossly, letting go of Sam and sitting up again. Bilbo smiled. 

« Alright, lad, alright… » He caught Bell's eye and amusement sparked between them – amusement they didn't dare voice for fear of offending the young man who sat there, frowning. But hidden laughter, all the same, at Frodo's show of temper. They shared one thought – _teenagers._ Bell shook her head, surpressing a smile, and began to wash Sam's foot. 

She had filled her bowl with the water she'd been boiling, and dipped Sam's foot into it. The water turned red instantly, and darker red when she rubbed some of the dried blood off with her hands. She placed a towel under his foot and went and poured the water down the bathroom sink. Then she came back, refilled the bowl, and washed his foot again. And again. And again, till she had to boil more water, because she'd used it all up. And again, she washed it, but it still kept bleeding. _I give up. It's been washed. Now I've got to try an' disinfect it. _

Emptying the bowl and rinsing it out, she came back to the bedroom and sat down again. She was picking up the bottle of brandy when she heard her son's soft voice. She came closer to him and leaned to hear his words. 

« Hmmm ? » she asked. Sam's eyes were half-closed in exhaustion and his lips barely moved. He was hardly audible, but she could make out some of what he was trying to say.

« … cold, Mum, I'm .. . don't feel… could I… stomach hurts… so cold… a blanket ? » 

« Yes, » she whispered, and stepped round to the pile Bilbo had placed near the side of the bed. She picked up the thickest, heaviest ones she could find and laid them over him, leaving his right leg exposed. « Better ? » she asked. Sam made a queer movement somewhere between a nod and a shake of his head. His lips moved again and she strained to hear him.

« … hurts, I don't feel good.. .think I'm… be sick, » he murmured. 

« When ? Right now ? » Bell asked, alarmed. Sam nodded, and she grabbed the bowl. Helping him to sit up, she held his head while he retched with a breathy, coughing sound. Three glasses of water, two mugs of tea, and vegetable soup all came up – fortunately, it didn't amount to much, but he was still miserable. He choked up bile for a few minutes before he was finished. Bell laid him back gently against his pillows and went to clean out the bowl. 

Frodo turned to him, feeling rather sick himself and fully aware of what had just happened. He touched Sam's fevered brow softly and stroked his sweat-damp hair. _I'm going to die,_ the child thought to him. Frodo smiled half-heartedly. _You said that before, when they were binding your ankle, and you didn't die then, _he reminded him. _Aye, but that was then,_ Sam said. _I wasn't throwing up then. An' I didn't have an infection. ~ Don't be stupid. Just because you have an infection doesn't mean you're going to die ! _Frodo said sharply. Sam said nothing to this, and cold fear settled on Frodo's heart. _Please, Father, don't make a liar out of me,_ he prayed. _doesn't mean you're going to die, _he said again._ It *doesn't*, Samwise_. Sam opened his eyes and looked at Frodo sidelong for a moment. Frodo moved his hand to the back of Sam's neck and massaged there, gently, till the child bowed his head and relaxed against Frodo's touch. _It doesn't,_ Frodo soothed. _I promise._

A single tear trickled down the boy's cheek and dripped onto the blankets. Sam was, after all, only four years old. He was wounded, aching, completely exhausted his temperature was 'through the roof', as Bilbo had put it to Bell he was sick to his stomach, his head was aching horribly, the pain in his foot and his ankle was beyond description, and he had an infection. Being altogether too precocious, he knew what happened to people with infections. They died. Oh, some lived, but most times they ended up crippled – by the fever or the loss of a limb, it made no difference. They were crippled for life, and to a four year-old, that seemed just as bad as dying. Of course, there were those who survived the infection and the fever it brought and lived on without any sign that they had ever been ill. But they were few and far between, and Sam didn't really have any hope of being that lucky. So he fought back his tears as Frodo rubbed his neck and shoulders, and wondered why life was so unfair. 

__

It's alright, you'll be alright, Frodo whispered to him, and he looked up. Frodo's eyes were kind, so kind, and his hands were so gentle, and his thoughts were so comforting, and his love was so steadying. Sam wanted to scream for the unfairness of it all. _I just met him ! Why do I have to die now ?_ he asked the Father. _I don't *want* to die ! I love him, I want to be with him, why is this happening to me ?_ His dark green eyes swam with tears and Frodo pulled him over so his head lay on Frodo's chest. 

Bilbo, who had gone out to make more cold compresses, because the ones he'd used hadn't worked so far, came back in and found them thus, with the little boy weeping soundlessly in his nephew's arms. He paused in the doorway, watching them, and held up his arm to stop Bell when she came back with the now-clean bowl. He didn't want to startle them, disturb them. Frodo looked so strange, sitting there, so much older than his years, with a look on his face that Bilbo had never seen on any hobbit – a deep, inward expression sorrow and fear and love beyond all reckoning shone in his distant blue eyes as he looked down at the child. He ran his fingers listlessly through the boy's soft hair and laid his cheek to the top of Sam's head. 

Still, Bell and Bilbo stood there, watching them, till it occurred to them that Sam's foot still needed bandaging. _I'll pass on the ointment for tonight,_ Bell thought, and walked quietly into the room. They didn't notice her Frodo didn't even look up until she began wrapping Sam's foot. _Be gentle,_ his eyes pleaded with her, and she was. Sam kept crying – why look up ? It was just pain and more pain on what he already had. Frodo tried to think of something to calm him, and a picture of the glen formed in his mind. He thought harder, till the picture was clear, and thought it to Sam. It worked. The silent glen, with its canopy of trees and soft, gold-green light, soothed him, and he quieted. _Sing me that song again,_ he whispered. _In my head._

So Frodo thought of the music and then of the words, and before he was finished, Bell was done with her bandaging and Sam had fallen asleep. Frodo eased them from their sitting postion till they were lying down, and Bilbo came and laid more blankets over them. Frodo smiled up at him gratefully, surprised when he remembered that only two days ago, he had been furious with him. _How could I ever doubt he loves me ?_ he wondered as Bilbo smiled back. 

« We'll check on you later, » Bell whispered, and kissed the boys before she and Bilbo walked quietly from the room. Frodo turned and tightened his arms about Sam again. _You'll be alright, _he whispered fiercely, and fell asleep humming his song to himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*


	23. Cleansing

****

Author Notes : I have returned ! Yay ! _So_ sorry I was so long about getting back to this I've been out of town. -_- So, to my reviewers : tiggivon – here, have another cookie. And a box of Kleenex. Sorry I didn't get them to you sooner ! Have another cookie for good measure. ^_^ The thing with the infusion of bluebells – I read in a book of herblore that bluebells are an expectorant, so I thought they'd be good for Frodo. I haven't used 'em yet, though. shirebound – the stubborness and tenacity that make for good _Ringbearers,_ plural ! ^_^ I'm glad you like to see updates and mad at myself that I didn't get this done sooner. IloveSam – I swear to God, I will email you _today_. And poor little Sam ! I sort of forgot myself that he's only four, so I've been trying to remind myself of it. He's so calm and self-controlled (a) because he's very mature, and (b) – have you ever been so sick you just didn't _care_ what happened to you anymore ? He's too tired to fight it, to make a fuss. That takes effort, and he just doesn't have the energy for it. Besides, Frodo's steadying him (just like you thought ! You totally understand !) Butterfly – I'll mail you, too ! Yeesh, but life's been so busy recently. *buries head in hands* Sorry about that. Have a cookie, dear boof. Trills – Yay ! I love to hear from you ! And yes, I'll mail _you_, too ! *calls to Frodo* Stop that ! She's trying to be nice ! You're right, some people are so protective… and no evil evil evil AU's, I promise. Mistress Samwise – I already know the answer, but I don't know I know it ? -_^ You're a jerk ! A jerk ! The biggest jerk I ever saw ! Aaaagggh ! Tell me ! Timber – lol ! Corn nuts, eh ? Be assured, I'll keep writing lots ^_^ Elvish – hey, there ! Nice to hear from you again ! Two whole weeks without your computer ? *dies a virtual death* Have a cookie ^_^ And I'm glad you like the soulmate/mind-reading thing ! I intend to have it in all my stories ^_^ Tigrin - *grins* Yeah, I'll make them all better, but I think I'm shooting for 25 chapters, total. So there's still two more chapters to go. Hey, no poking ! ^_^ I won't kill Sam with blood-loss, no worries. Prince Tyler Briefs - *looks at you anxiously* I really hope I haven't taken _too_ long. You're still alive, right ? I said 'right' ? Speak to me ! and have a medicinal cookie. ^_^ Mish – more angst, my dear ! Yay ! *loves angst, but not too much angst* Amanda – I was giggling as I wrote that line. Haven't you ever just wanted to scream at everyone to go away ? Poor Frodo… *kisses her Frodo picture*. S'alright, Bilbo loves him. So, for _story_ notes : I haven't updated in like, forever, so this is a _long_ chapter ! And the thing at the end (you'll know it when you read it) is a bit strange, but I thought it would tie in nicely with the whole soul-bonding thing. Tell whatcha think ! And I _will_ make them better, so put those rocks down !

« Bell, could you just stay the rest of night ? » Bilbo asked as they walked down the hallways. « They're so sick, both of them, and I really have no idea what to do – » Bell was already nodding.

« It's nearly four in the morning, sir there's no point in me goin' home now. And I'd stay anyway, » she said. Bilbo breathed out, relieved. 

« Right, then. We can get you set up in one of the guest bedrooms… Close to the boys would probably be a good idea. » He looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded again. 

« Yes, sir. Come to think of it, I could just stay in th' young master's room. If I changed the sheets, that is. » 

« Are you sure you want to ? » asked Bilbo. « Whatever he's got, it might be catching. Do you want to take the risk ? » Bell smiled.

« I've had six children, sir I've taken more risks of this sort than I can remember. I'll be alright once I change the sheets. Besides, it's the room adjoining to the one they're in, so it's closest, » she reasoned. Bilbo conceded this point, and walked with her to the linen closet to fetch clean sheets. 

Returning to Frodo's bedroom, where all this had begun almost two hours earlier, they set the sheets on the fireside chair and threw back the blankets on the bed. Bell gasped aloud to see the blood on them, and stood there a moment, horrified. She turned to Bilbo suddenly, almost angrily.

« Why didn't you tell me it was so bad ? » she asked. 

« Sorry, » Bilbo apologized. « It – it slipped my mind. » It was very late – or rather, early – and the boys were just _so_ sick, and what with all this worry about an infection, Bilbo had clean forgotten about the mess. Bell frowned at him and seemed to be arguing with herself. Then her brow cleared, and she gave him a conciliatory – if very worried – smile. 

« Alright, » she said. « No point in fussing about things as is already done. Let's do the job, » she said, and throwing the pillows to the floor, they stripped the bed. The bloody sheets went into a separate pile, for washing later. « Can't promise those stains'll come out, sir, » Bell said. « They're pretty deep. » At this, she frowned again. 

« Bell ? » Bilbo asked, looking at her questioningly. She frowned deeper and shook her head.

« It just don't make no _sense,_ » she said, sighing in frustration. « His foot shouldn't be bleedin' that badly it _shouldn't._ » 

« Is there anything you can give him ? » asked Bilbo hesitantly. Bell chewed her lip and thought hard. 

« Adder's tongue is good, but it's s'posed to help wounds that's _already_ healing. An' his isn't. » She ran her fingers through her hair and stared into the embers of the fire. Her face darkened suddenly, and so sharply Bilbo didn't care to guess what she was thinking. He waited a moment before saying, « Well, perhaps it'll be better by tomorrow. »

« It'll have to be, » Bell muttered. « Otherwise – » Now she looked positively grim, and Bilbo did not ask her to finish her sentence. She shook her head and seemed to break away from whatever it was that was troubling her. « Would you help me with the sheets, sir ? » she asked.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dawn came, still grey and raining. The Brandywine rose dangerously, and many of the inhabitants of Brandy Hall had left for higher ground. It was to be remembered in later years as the Flood Summer – not that it ever _actually_ flooded, but it came very close to doing so. The rains were heavier that year than they had been in fifty, but the farmers weren't particularly grateful for them. The sudden, devastating downpour that had started three days before had already ruined – or nearly ruined – many fields. Fortunately, it had tapered off to a more normal rate of rainfall, and the farmers could breathe easier for their remaining fields.

Back in Bag End, Sam and Frodo were sleeping the deep, heavy sleep of exhaustion. Frodo had his arms securely around Sam, and hadn't let go all night. Some part of his consciousness registered the presence of the child in his arms, and he slept without any more nightmares. Towards eight o'clock, the thick, viscous fluid that clouded Frodo's lungs began to rumble in his chest again. His breath quickened, sounding thick and forced, and the insistent rumble of fluid caught his throat. He began to cough in his sleep quietly, at first, and still unconscious. He was so tired, the cough did not disturb him until it started to seriously interfere with his breathing. His eyes opened and he found himself on his side, coughing hard into the nape of Sam's neck and panting for air. Letting go of the child and sitting up as quickly as he could seemed to help a little, but not much, and a tight, hot, knifelike pain shot through his chest. 

In his bedroom, Bell heard him and came in quickly. « S'alright, lad, it's alright I've got you. » She helped him sit up further and pounded on his back, but to no avail. His thin body was wracked with coughing and his fingertips started to turn blue. Bell pulled him so he lay facedown across her knees, and hit his shaking shoulders repeatedly with the heels of her hands until he made a queer, choking noise. For a moment, he didn't breathe at all as he lay rigid across her lap. _Oh, dear Father, I've killed him,_ Bell thought, and almost died herself of relief when he suddenly scrambled off her lap and spat up onto the floor. 

Frodo knelt back, feeling wretchedly sick and clutching at his chest, where his breath still came short and reluctantly. _I've broken something, I'm sure of it,_ he thought miserably. He'd heard of people breaking ribs in coughing fits, and was extremely put out at the prospect. _It's already too hard to breathe._ _I made a mess,_ he noticed. Bell had knocked loose quite a bit of – something. It was shiny and sticky and yellowish-brown, but what caught Frodo's attention – and frightened him badly – were the bright red streaks in it. _Blood ? I'm coughing blood ?_ He began to back away on his hands and knees, as though it might rise up and attack him.

Bell, too, had noticed the blood, and the dark color of the infection worried her greatly. _Watch this one, Bell,_ she instructed herself. _He's turning into a pneumonia. _Having known several people who had died of pneumonia, she was extremely wary of the disease. _If you see it's pneumonia, give the patient all you've got,_ her cousin had told her. _It all depends on whether they get treatment fast enough. If they're even a few *hours* into the worsening stages, it's too late. They'll be lucky if they survive._

« Here's hoping you're lucky, » she murmured, helping Frodo to his feet. The room tilted dizzily and his knees failed him. He fell against her, clutching her shoulders for balance. 

« Mistress, I – » he said hoarsely. _Father, but it hurts to talk ! I know why I'm coughing blood because I've torn my throat to pieces !_ The room tilted again and the colors ran together. Bell's arms were safe about him, anchoring him, but it felt like the floor was heaving under his feet – a sensation he found he disliked intensely. 

« Let's get you into bed again, » Bell said, lifting him gently and setting him back in his place. Frodo closed his eyes wearily and prayed for the dizziness to go away. After a few more stomach-churning moments, it did, much to his relief. Bell touched his hair and pulled the covers back over him, but he threw them off immediately. _Too hot,_ he thought. The room _was_ too hot, it felt like a furnace – to him, at least. The atmosphere was close and stifling, and sweat beaded on his brow, making his black curls damp against his forehead.

Bell started to put the covers back over him again, but he frowned and kicked at them. 

« It's too hot, » he mumbled. _Too hot, too hot…_

« That's just your fever, lad. You need to keep warm, » Bell said. Frodo scowled half-heartedly, and kicked weakly at the blankets again.

« Don't want them, » he said childishly. _Behave yourself, _some more alert part of his mind commanded. _Shut up,_ he answered sullenly. _I'll do what I want.~ Oh-ho, that's what *you* think. ~ What d'you mean, what I think ? ~ Well, Frodo Baggins, you're not exactly in a position to fight, are you ? High fever, early morning, gasping for air - ~ Shut up ! ~ - and with all this commotion, you're going to wake Sam. So behave yourself._ Frodo behaved himself. When Bell laid the blankets over him for the third time, he let them lie.

« There, now, » Bell said softly. « I'll make you some chamomile tea, for your throat. Just let me check on Sam, first. » Frodo turned over so he could watch her as she walked to the other side of the bed. Laying her cool hand against her son's flushed cheek, she looked relieved. « Well, it hasn't gone up, anyway, » she said under her breath. _But it hasn't gone down, either. Get some fluid into him, that'll help._

She stroked Sam's hair, still sweat-damp, until his eyelids fluttered and opened. Sleep had temporarily put thoughts of the wee small hours of that morning far from his mind. As he lay there, looking up at her, he thought he was at home and she was waking him to go help his father and brothers with their work. Then Frodo's violet-tinged worry touched his consciousness, and he remembered where he was. _Sam ?_ Frodo thought to him, taking his small hand with one hand and pulling the boy into his lap with the other. Sam squeezed his hand a little, and Frodo's worry eased. _How do you feel ?_ he asked, even as Bell asked aloud. 

« Hot, » the child said tiredly. _Too hot._ Frodo nodded his agreement. « An' thirsty. »

« I'll get you some water, then, » said Bell, and taking the pitcher from the bedside table, poured him a glass. He gulped it down so fast, his mother could barely blink before the glass was empty. « I guess you _were_ thirsty, at that, » she said, surprised. « D'you want more ? » Sam nodded, and she refilled his glass. This water, too, disappeared in record time. « Careful, baby, you'll choke if you don't slow, » she warned, taking the glass from him and setting it on the bedside table again. « Let me take a look at your foot. »

_Please, Father, don't let it be bleeding, please…_ she thought as she pulled back the covers. It had bled, alright, but not half as badly as before. Indeed, the bleeding looked to have slowed considerably in the past three hours. _We can always hope for a miracle,_ she thought, and crossed her fingers quickly for luck. _O' course, it may finally 'ave just taken the *normal* course of events an' slowed on its own. That's just as good._ She smiled up at the boys.

« You're doing better, » she said, almost congratulatory in her tone. Frodo smiled back at her, but Sam didn't, and Frodo felt the hesitant protest in his mind. _What's wrong ?_ he asked. _I don't know,_ Sam said. _But something…_ Bell spoke again.

« Sam, if I made you some echinacea-tea for the infection, could you drink it ? » Sam paused, and nodded reluctantly. « Good boy, » she said, and – after cleaning up what Frodo had coughed up all over the floor – proceeded to boil the water and make tea. By the time she finished, Sam and Frodo were asleep again, and Frodo's arms were – of course – once more around Sam. She shook them awake as gently as she could and had them sit up. She handed Frodo a mug with chamomile tea, and held to Sam's lips a mug of the echinacea-tea he had always hated. The scent was soothing, but he despised the flavor and was very averse to drinking it. 

__

Anythin' for an infection, though, he thought heavily and resentfully. _Don't you like echinacea, Sam ? _Frodo asked, surprised. _No. I hate it,_ the child said irritably. _Your mum seems to think it'll work,_ said Frodo, looking down at him. At the moment, all maturity aside, Sam was behaving very much like a four year-old, and Frodo wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed. _Come on, Sam,_ he coaxed. _Drink it for me._ He felt vaguely guilty at being so manipulative, but so long as Sam was going to have to drink the tea…

« Drink up, » Bell urged, and he began to drink, but stopped after the fourth swallow. The heat of the room had become freezingly cold, and he was bathed in sweat. « What's wrong ? » she asked him. « Drink, baby, it'll help, I promise. » Sam shook his head, and watched the colors of the room swirl together sickeningly. _I don't feel good,_ he thought to Frodo suddenly and forcefully, and Frodo could _feel_ the color drain from Sam's cheeks. He swallowed hurriedly and set down his mug before turning back to Sam. The boy had gone very pale, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked to Frodo, his eyes wide and desperate. _I don't feel good,_ he whimpered again, and Frodo understood. He wasn't being childish, he was feeling sick, and having to swallow the hated tea was only complicating matters. _Alright, hold on, I'll tell your mum,_ he said.

« Samwise, drink this ! » Bell said, no-nonsense. _She_ thought he was just being stubborn (Sam could be that way, when the mood struck him, and especially when dealing with something he disliked as intensely as this tea), and was not inclined to put up with it. 

« He can't, Mistress, » Frodo said. « He's going to be sick. » 

« What ? » Bell asked, confused. _How would he know – oh, dear. _Sam shoved her arm away with surprising strength and tea slopped over the edge of the mug as he scrambled sideways and threw up off the side of the bed. _Too late, _Frodo thought and closed his eyes. _Poor little boy. Can't even drink tea without retching. _He shut his thoughts to the nausea that surged through Sam, lest he be sick himself. Two glasses of water, drunk far too quickly, and the tea that Sam had swallowed moments earlier splashed on the wooden floor. Bell made a face and put the mug on the bedside table before helping her son to sit back. The four year-old was panting and trembling, his eyes were dangerously bright, and his skin radiated heat. _Maybe he's not doing so well after all,_ she thought.

« Here, you lay still, now, » she said, laying him back in Frodo's arms. _Hey, there,_ he said softly. Sam turned and buried his face in Frodo's shoulder. _I *am* going to die,_ he said miserably. _An' I wish I would, already, 'cause I feel awful._ ~ _Oh, honey,_ Frodo thought. _You're not going to die. And I can help with the 'awful', see ? _He rubbed his hand gently in circles on Sam's stomach. Sam tensed at first, and then relaxed. _That feels good,_ he said. Frodo smiled and kissed his hair. _I thought it might._

« I'll get some towels an' clean this up, » Bell whispered to him, and he nodded. She left the room, and he continued rubbing Sam's stomach, till he felt the boy falling asleep again. Then he reached for his chamomile tea and began drinking it again. It did soothe his throat, somewhat, and the heat eased the pain in his chest. When he was finished, he set the mug back on his bedside table, turned over to face Sam, and fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Having – with Bilbo's help – cleaned up the mess, Bell borrowed some of Frodo's clothes and woke Sam to change him out of his sweaty tunic and sash. Then she had laid him down again and she and Bilbo proceeded to press cold compresses to their foreheads for another half-hour, until their fevers were sufficiently lowered. Checking her son's foot a final time and satisfying herself that the bleeding had not started up again, Bell and Bilbo left the room. 

They looked in on the boys two and three times an hour, always keeping an ear open for them, should they call. Bell occupied herself with organizing Bilbo's pantries, and by late morning had finished nearly four. Though the boys' fevers had not risen since earlier, still she and Bilbo checked their temperatures constantly. Sure enough, by noon, their fevers had spiked again. Frodo was murmuring something in his sleep and frowning unhappily. Sam was sleeping heavily, his head on Frodo's shoulder, when Bell and Bilbo came in. 

« … don't want to… » Frodo said, and sighed, turning over and pressing closer to the boy in his arms. « … me alone, I … no… » Bell shook his shoulder gently to wake him, but he only frowned more deeply. « … please, I … no, don't… leave, want to… » he mumbled incoherently. She shook harder, and his eyes snapped open. Whatever fevered dream he had been caught in, it was apparently slow to fade. He stared up at her without recognition before saying, « Tell them to go away. » Bell raised her brows and looked at Bilbo, confused.

« Who ? » she asked. 

« Tell them to leave me alone, » he said. « Tell them. They're so mean to me. »

« Who ? » Bell asked again. _Dear gods, he's delirious. Now what ?_

« You _know,_ » Frodo said wearily. « Make them leave, Mother, please I don't like them. » 

__

Mother ? Oh, dear. « Lad, I'm not your mother, » she said. Frodo seemed not to hear her and merely fell asleep again, murmuring something about 'them'. _Who's 'them' ? _she wondered. « Who's 'them' ? » she whispered to Bilbo, who shrugged helplessly. 

« I've no idea, » he said. « But what do we do for delirium ? »

« Lower his fever, s'all I can think of, » Bell whispered. « We'll make 'im some more of those cold compresses, an' see if that works. » 

They went to the kitchen and pulled every spare washcloth they could find out of the drawers, and soaked them in cold water, and put them into two separate bowls – they had quite a lot of washcloths – and took the bowls back to the bedroom. Bilbo pulled up the fireside chair to Frodo's side of the bed and proceeded to give him the treatment, and Frodo, unlike last time, neither protested nor even awakened. His face twitched every few minutes, and he was still mumbling under his breath words thick with sleep and twisted with fever, completely incomprehensible. Bilbo again found himself wondering whether his slender, dreamy-eyed nephew could survive such a fever. He laid his hand gently on Frodo's dark hair and ran his fingers through it. _Oh, Frodo,_ he thought heavily. _Don't die on me. I just don't think I could bear it._

Bell looked at him a moment, and looked away. _Come on, lad,_ she willed Frodo. _You'll be alright. You have to be. _Shaking her head, she went over to her son's side of the bed. His temperature had risen sharply, but unlike Frodo (who was sweating heavily), he burned with a dry heat. _Not good, not good,_ Bell thought, and her brow creased in worry. He lay limp in Frodo's arms, breathing quietly, shallowly, and did not wake when his mother kissed his cheek. 

« I need t' check his foot again, » Bell whispered to Bilbo, meaning that she would have to pull back the covers. Bilbo nodded and gestured that she could continue. She did, praying that the bleeding had stopped by now. No such luck if anything, it was back in full force. Blood oozed from his bandages in sticky, dark red streams that made a great stain across the sheets, streaked through with cream-yellow pus. She and Bilbo grimaced in disgust at the sight, and at the smell of the infection. 

« That needs cleanin', » Bell muttered. « An' quick. Think I'll go get another bowl… » 

The ointments and powders and unguents and tinctures and teas that she had collected the night previous were still on Frodo's desk, so there was no need to get them. Trotting quickly down the hallways to the kitchen, she opened the cupboards and pulled out a large, glazed, pottery bowl. It had a design on it of fruits and leaves, and she realized this probably meant it was one of Bilbo's good bowls. She half-considered putting it away and finding another one to wash her son's foot in, but the time it might take to find a not-so-good bowl was time she just didn't have. _Oh, well,_ she thought. _He'll understand._

Returning to the bedroom as fast as she could walk, she set the bowl on the chest at the foot of the bed and went over to Frodo's desk. _Brandy, adder's tongue – oh, water. How stupid of me._ With a frustrated sigh, she picked up the bowl again and went down the halls to the bathroom to fill it, taking the few remaining towels as well. She came back to the bedroom and set the bowl down on the chest again, when she paused suddenly. _No, daft lass ! *Boiling* water !_ Bell smacked her palm to her forehead and emptied the contents of the bowl into the teakettle, which she hung over the fire. _*Now* have you got it right ? You'll be here all day, goin' on like this._

Bilbo was finishing up with the compresses, and before the water boiled, he had removed the last one. They warmed now far too quickly for his comfort, and they seemed to be having less effect. Frodo's temperature was down a jot or two, but nowhere near as far down as Bilbo would have liked. He frowned at the compresses, as though he could blame them, and placing the heap of washcloths into the bowls, he stood and carried them back to the kitchen. 

When he got back, the water was boiling, and Bell poured it into her bowl again. « Finally, » she muttered. « It's only been a half-hour. » Frodo had stopped murmuring a while ago, and lay curled on his side, holding Sam. When Bilbo finished with the compresses, he had turned his head and buried his face in Sam's soft curls. His breathing was rough and wet, and his tunic was drenched with sweat. _Sorry, lad, _Bell thought. _But I'm goin' t' have to worry about thee later. It's my son as needs tendin' to now._ She sat down on the bed beside him and began to unwind his bandages again.

The bandages pulled apart slowly, like melted caramels, and left long strings of blood between them. Bell's fingers were stained red, and she swallowed hard against the sickness that rose in her throat. _Oh, baby, what's happening to you ?_ she asked silently. Sam didn't answer, of course, but when she pulled away another layer of linen, he made a little gasping sound and turned onto his side, facing Frodo. Their faces touched and their breathing mingled, and Sam quieted again. Bell paused, and continued her task. 

As she unwound the bandages, she found each layer more sodden than the one before. Little pools of collected blood had formed between the layers, spilling over her fingers as she worked. Suddenly, a little rush of warm, dark blood spurted from Sam's foot onto her hand through the bandages. Bell jerked away involutarily, and Bilbo looked up at her.

« Something wrong ? » he whispered. 

Bell shook her head. _You're just being a ninny,_ she told herself sternly. _Now, get on with it._ But as she neared the end of the several feet of dripping fabric that was tightly wound round Sam's small foot, more and more small gushes of blood began to spit out on her hands. Taking one of her towels, she put it on her lap and Sam's foot on the towel, trying to minimize the mess. When she pulled free the last bit of cloth, clinging stubbornly to Sam's sole and gunked with infection, a great purge of blood and pus came spilling from the wound and soaked the towel in her lap. Again, Bell fought against the bile that rose in her, and rose more strongly at the sight of the wound.

It was almost undiscernible under the blackish-red blood and yellow infection that crusted it. Tentatively wiping some away with the edge of the towel, Bell saw that it was horribly inflamed. Blood welled from it in sticky clots and sudden spurts, incessantly. Bilbo's dark eyes widened.

« Dear Father, Bell ! What do we do ? » he asked. Bell sat a long moment, considering. _There *must* be another way,_ she thought desperately, but could think of no other, and the sick reality of her son's blood spilling into her lap forced her to make her decision.

« We've got to stop the bleedin', » she said. « An' the best way I know is to sear the wound. » She lowered her voice when she said it, and all her dark looks were suddenly very clear to Bilbo.

« But supposing that seals the infection in his bloodstream ? » he asked, aware of the dangers of searing a wound to seal it.

« If we don' do it, an' soon, 'e won't 'ave no bloodstream t' seal th' infection in ! » Bell said sharply, her childhood accent thickening in her anxiety. « 'E's bleedin' t' death, sir, dinna ye see that ? My son is bleedin' t' death ! I've got no choice but t' sear the wound, or 'e'll die fer sure ! » 

Bilbo hesitated. « Isn't there some other way ? » he asked. « If it _does_ seal the infection – and burns can get infected, too, Bell. What then ? » Bell sighed heavily.

« I don' know, sir, but I ain't got any other choice, » she said. « We'll just have t' cross that bridge when we come to it. » 

Bilbo again hesitated, trying to think of another course of action, but like Bell, he could see no other way. The boy's small face was no longer flushed, but a peculiar tinge of ivory, and he slept _so_ heavily – no, they were right. It would have to be done. 

« I'll need to clean it first, » Bell said, interrupting his thoughts. 

« What ? Oh, yes. Yes, clean it, by all means, » Bilbo said. « How can I help ? » 

« Make sure I don't wake that nephew of yours with all my bothering, » she said with a wry look.

« How could you wake _him_ by cleaning Sam's foot ? » Bilbo asked, confused. Bell shrugged.

« I don't know, sir. But I've got the feeling I could. Now, then… »

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Oh, how he hated those Sackville-Bagginses ! They were constantly _nagging_ and _whining_ and _complaining_ about everything under the sun, and for reasons undefined, they hated Frodo. Long before Frodo would come into the position of heir of Bag End, they had hated him, and found every probable or even possible reason for fault in him. _Too tall, too slender, too pale, his eyes are queer, hobbits don't have blue eyes – not *proper* hobbits – and always going around with his nose stuck in a book. Who does he think he is ? Better than us, because he can read ? _There were several occasions when Lotho had beaten him for this most punishable of faults (it drove Frodo mad to hear literacy spoken of as a 'fault' by the illiterate), and once when he had destroyed three of Frodo's books and _then_ beaten him. 

Frodo didn't have his cousin's heavy bones, nor his hard fists, nor the weight behind them to make his hits effective. He was just too small to really fight back, though he tried, spitting like a wildcat, eyes blazing, limbs flailing as he tried to tackle Lotho and bring him to the ground. It had never worked, but Frodo was fierce, and he was not going to take it 'lying down', so to speak. More often than not, Lotho blacked his eye or split his lip or bloodied his nose, and gave him other bruises that would last for weeks. Once, when he was particularly enraged at his blue-eyed – and perfectly innocent – cousin, he had twisted his arm behind him and increased the pressure till Frodo almost felt the bones snap. His uncle Saradoc had come running, then, and pulling Lotho off of Frodo, had given him the whipping of his life. He then sent him and his family back to Sackville and told them they would be welcome in the Hall no longer. Saradoc was a good man, and rather fond of Frodo, and he'd be damned if any Sackville-Baggins was going to break his nephew's arm. He'd seen Esmeralda, his wife, tend to Frodo, and patted the boy on the shoulder before walking off, cursing the S-B.'s under his breath.

Now Frodo was fourteen, and back in Buckland, and Lotho had backed him into one of the innumerable rooms of Brandy Hall. Frodo was thinking fast, trying to decide whether to heave himself at Lotho and make a break for the door, or simply scream until someone came along. Heaving himself at Lotho seemed the braver of the two, and Frodo would rather be beaten and brave than saved and a coward. He leapt forward with a cry and knocked Lotho backwards over the threshold freedom seemed imminent and he was thrilled with the ease of his success when Lotho reared up and caught him by the ankle, yanking him down sharply. 

Frodo fell to floor and Lotho grabbed him around the waist, lifting him up and throwing him onto the bed. Frodo heard a 'crack !' as he slammed against the headboard, and felt a sharp twinge in his back. He sat up quickly and tried to get off the bed, but Lotho, now further angered by Frodo's resistance, struck him hard across the face. Frodo flinched and tasted copper, but before he could react, Lotho struck him again. Frodo's large blue eyes filled with tears that he tried furiously to hold back, but to no avail. This made his cousin laugh, and now Frodo was angry. He jumped up with a speed and agility that startled Lotho, and setting his hands on Lotho's thick shoulders, kneed him in the groin. It was a girls' strategy, but Frodo didn't care, and while Lotho was on the floor, still temporarily incapacitated, he made good his escape and ran to his mother.

« Mother, tell them to go away, » he pleaded. « Or tell Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmy. Tell _somebody._ But make them go away they're so mean to me. » His mother looked at him strangely.

« Who ? » she asked. Frodo's head was pounding and his face hurt and he was sure to have bruises he was aching too much to consider his mother's question.

« You _know,_ » he said, as she should have. It was hardly the first time Lotho had pounded on him. « Tell them to go away. I don't like them. » In truth, Frodo was very near to hating them. Being young, and very good-natured, he hadn't gotten that far yet. But he was close. His mother was saying something, but his head just hurt so _much_ she wasn't making any sense. « I hope Uncle Saradoc sends them away, » he mumbled, going to his bedroom to nurse his hurts.

Then suddenly the dream changed, and he was walking through a wooded area. The trees were shady and dark and they smelled good, and he could hear a stream gurgling a short ways off. _Least my face doesn't hurt anymore,_ he thought gratefully. He heard a small voice singing softly, and went towards the sound, confused. There, on the banks of the stream and playing with a handful of pebbles, was his Elf-child. Sam looked up just as Frodo appeared and they stared at eachother a moment.

« What're you doing here ? » they asked in unison. « This is my dream, » they answered. They shook their heads and stared at eachother again. 

« No, it's not, » said Frodo. 

« Yes, it is, » Sam replied. « S'my dream, an' I don't know how _you_ got yourself into it, but I was here first. » 

« No, it's _my_ dream, because I was back at Brandy Hall and you can't possibly have been dreaming about Brandy Hall. You've never been there, » Frodo retorted. Their eyes met and held, mirrors to eachother's confusion.

« Well, you've never been _here_, » Sam said. « This is one of my places. Like th' glen. So it must be my dream. » He didn't look convinced, though.

« Maybe – » Frodo began, and hesitated. Sam raised his dark brows questioningly, and he went on. « Maybe we're _sharing_ a dream ? » he said slowly, as though feeling the words out. « Maybe it's like how I can hear your thoughts and feel your feelings – I mean, why _shouldn't_ we dream eachother's dreams ? » Sam sighed, a heavy sigh of four year-old confusion.

« It don't make no sense, is why, » he said. « It's too strange. » Frodo laughed shortly.

« Sam, from the moment I _met_ you, everything's been strange, » he said smiling. « Come on – how many people d'you think there are in the Shire – or even the whole world – who can talk like we can ? How many, little one ? »

Sam thought about it for a few minutes, before slowing raising his small fist and uncurling two fingers. Frodo laughed again and crouched down beside him. « And you know something ? You're probably right, » he whispered conspiratorially. Sam smiled at him and threw his arms around his neck. Frodo hugged back for a moment before picking Sam up, and the child wrapped his legs about Frodo's waist. There was silence for a moment, before Sam said suddenly,

« Well, whatever it is, it's a far sight better than bein' awake. » Frodo grinned.

« I'll grant you that, Sam, » he said. « Most definitely better than being awake. Maybe we should just stay here until it's safe to wake up again ? » Sam nodded decisively.

« Maybe we should, » he agreed. « It don't hurt so much, this way. »

« No, it doesn't, » Frodo said thoughtfully. « And I wonder why. » He was wondering whether it was possible to keep separate their dreams and reality to the extent where no pain was felt, but then Sam cried out and grasped for his ankle, and a few moments later, cried out again. Frodo put him down and he cradled his small foot in his hands, biting down hard on his lower lip. Frodo saw his eyes fill with tears that threatened to spill, but then the fit passed, and the tears were blinked away as quickly as they'd appeared. Sam rubbed his foot and frowned.

« They're messin' with my foot out there, » he muttered. « I take it back it still hurts. Just not as often. »

« Sorry, little one, » Frodo said softly. « But it's still better than being awake, isn't it ? »

« Yeah, » said the child. « _Anythin's_ better than bein' awake right now. Even this. »

« Even this, » Frodo affirmed, and stood, offering his hand. Sam took it and stood with him.

« Are we goin' somewhere ? » he asked. Frodo shrugged.

« I don't know. But as long as we're here, we might as well start walking. What else is there to do ? » 

« Alright, » replied Sam, and they walked off through the trees.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

« What d'you suppose they're dreaming ? » Bell asked Bilbo, still cleaning Sam's foot. The boys were curled tightly together – as tightly as they could be, given that Bell was working on Sam's leg. Frodo had slipped his hand next to Sam's, and their fingers were laced together. Both were breathing quietly, steadily, even if roughly, and peace was in both their faces.

« I don't know, » Bilbo whispered to her. « But whatever it is, it seems nice. Let's hope they don't wake for a while, and this'll be easier. » Bell smiled wryly.

« A far sight easier, » she agreed. « Well, here's hoping, sir. » Bilbo smiled back.

« Here's hoping, » he repeated.

~*~*~*~*~*~*


	24. Dream Sequence

****

Author Notes : Oh – pause – migod. An entire _month_ since I last updated. I. Am. So. Sorry. So so so so so so sorry. And amazed at anyone who has managed to sustain interest in this story for so long. It's like this – the computer caught a virus. And died. Or nearly died, anyway, we managed to resurrect it. And while the computer was down for the count, my muses resigned. It's very hard to find good help these days, and naturally I had to interview all the new candidates… Anywho, it boils down to this : I have not updated in a month. I am the biggest jerk of all time. I am a penitent jerk. I am updating now. I really, really, really hope you haven't all moved away or something, or totally lost interest (which would serve me right). And I really, really, really hope my new muses have done as good a job as you've credited my former muses with. (Meaning, I haven't written any part of this story for a looooong time and I don't know if this'll be any good my deepest apologies if it's not.) As for a reviewers' section, I hesitate to include one. The comments you made were all made weeks and weeks ago, so my comments on your comments would be a bit obscure, I think. One person, though : foolofatook – thanks for reading ! and reviewing ! all of my stories ! (Okay, that was kind of fractured…) But anyway, thank you ! To the rest of you (if you're even reading this anymore) – I love you all, and I am so terribly sorry about making you wait so long. Shoot me, please. Crucify me, whatever. I won't do it again. O_O Onto the story – here's hoping it's still good…

Bell grimaced as she scraped away the clotted blood and pus that caked the edges of the wound. 

« I'm afraid I've ruined your towel, sir, » she apologized to Bilbo. Bilbo seemed amused.

« Only a towel, Bell, only a towel, » he reassured her. « I can always get another one. »

« Aye, » Bell agreed. « Assumin' this storm ever stops long enough for you to go to market. » 

« It'll stop, I'm sure, » Bilbo said. « It just has to rain itself out. I'm betting it's over by the end of the week. »

« Hmph, » Bell snorted. « Says you. » Bilbo laughed out loud.

« Yes, says me. And I know what I'm talking about, so stop looking at me that way ! » he said. Bell's skeptical glance softened into a smile. 

« Alright. You're probably right, anyway. I hope you are Hamfast's all in a fluster 'bout 'is flowerbeds. Convinced they've been ruined by the rain. 'A whole summer's work, come to nought !', he keeps sayin'. » 

« I should certainly hope not, » said Bilbo, frowning suddenly. « My gardens have quite a reputation. Wouldn't do at all for them to be ruined. » 

« Aye, well. That's what he's been saying. I don't know as it's _true,_ but it's what he's been saying, » Bell said. « Oh, dear. »

« What ? » asked Bilbo, looking anxiously from Frodo to Sam for some sudden sign of worsening. Bell paused a moment in her ministrations.

« Nothin', it's just I promised Ham I'd be back to tell him how things was gettin' on with the boys. An' here it is, past noon, an' I haven't been back. He probably thinks they're dead by now, » she said, shaking her head.

« Well, you could go tell him now, » suggested Bilbo. « I mean, couldn't you ? How long would it take ? »

« I've no idea, sir, really, » she replied. « An' I should finish what I started, at least the cleanin' anyway, afore I do anythin' else. » Bilbo had just come up with a brilliant idea.

« The children are clamoring to see him, aren't they ? » he asked. Bell nodded, looking vaguely annoyed at the reminder.

« Have been since yesterday mornin', apparently, » she said. « Just about drove my husband crazy, they did, an' Mari's got it into her head that Sam's never coming back, so she hasn't stopped wailing all this time. » Bilbo wanted to be sympathetic, but instead found himself fighting the urge to laugh. He could just imagine his patient, dark-haired gardener, usually so stoic, steadily losing his temper as five, separate children fired five, separate streams of questions at him – questions he naturally couldn't answer, but that they asked, nonetheless.

« Why don't you finish cleaning his foot, and then let them visit before you cauterize it ? » he suggested. Bell looked confused.

« Why before ? » she asked. « Makes more sense just to get it over with all at once. »

« Yes, I know, but if they want to see him – and I take it they do – he's fairly calm right now. Sleeping, but calm, and you could probably wake him, at least for a short period of time, » Bilbo answered.

« What's this leading to ? » Bell asked, still confused. Bilbo leaned forward a bit and rested his elbows on the bed as he explained.

« Well, searing the wound is undoubtedly going to cause him tremendous pain, » he said, and paused.

« Yes… » Bell agreed, nodding slowly.

« Which is going to make him scream and cry, which would be extremely upsetting to his brothers and sisters – especially little Marigold, if she thinks he's already dead or dying, » Bilbo continued. 

« True, » Bell acknowleged.

« So, » Bilbo reasoned, « let them visit with him beforehand, assure themselves he's alive and well – or mostly well, anyway – and then send them away and finish the job. » He sat back, rather pleased with his reasoning. Bell tilted her head to the side, considering.

« Master Frodo's bronchitis might be catching, » she said after a moment. « An' it's turning worse. Besides, Sam might not wake up at all, » she said. « Then what ? »

« If it's catching, we've caught it by now, » Bilbo argued. « And have probably given it to your family already. And who said Sam _had_ to be awake ? They just want to see him, is all. Weigh the difference, Bell – the slight chance of them catching Frodo's chill, or the greater chance of your husband going mad from all the questions ? » Bell hid a smile at the thought of her husband going mad from the incessant queries of his children.

« Alright, » she consented. « Just let me finish this. » The towel, now thoroughly disgusting, she wadded up into a ball and threw into Frodo's laundry hamper. She then soaked one of Bilbo's washcloths in her bowl of boiling water and wiped Sam's foot clean with it, being careful not to touch his ankle. The stiff white bandages around his broken bones were still tight and dry and clean, and Bell whispered prayerful thanks Westward for that. Rinsing the washcloth and turning the water dirty red, she wiped his foot again, and then again, until there was no trace of blood except that which oozed from the wound. The sticky clots around the edges, she scraped off, and the blood ran more freely, streaming into the bowl beneath it and giving the water a thin, crimson consistency.

The edges of the wound were swollen, and a peculiar yellowish color. Bell hoped the searing would burn the infection out and save her son. Her childhood friend's older brother had gotten a wound very similar to Sam's, and it had gotten infected, and, like Sam, he had fallen ill. Bell closed her mind to the memories of her best friend's tears at his funeral. _He's not goin' to die, stop thinkin' that !_ she ordered herself. _Think that, an' it'll happen. Bad luck, it is, to be thinkin' such things about your own son. Stop it._ But she couldn't.

Bilbo, looking down at Frodo, was thinking of a very special friend of his who had come down with bronchitis and never gotten up again. The illness had advanced aggressively, and in two weeks in November, the year Bilbo was eighteen, had wasted his friend away. It struck a bitter chord in his heart to be reminded of that loss, and he didn't think he could stand to lose his nephew. Frodo's breathing sounded a bit labored, and gurgled in his throat with a wetness that did not bode well. His fever had risen, despite their attempts to lower it, and he was sweating like a blacksmith on a hot day in Afterlithe. His black curls were plastered to his forehead in a wet curve, and his sweat dripped onto the face of the small boy curled so close to him. Strangely enough, Frodo looked content. Bilbo wondered what he was dreaming of.

« Done, » said Bell. « I'll go get them now. » She paused. « Master Bilbo ? » she asked, breaking his thoughts.

« Hmmm ? » he asked, looking up. Bell was brow was furrowed in concern.

« Are you alright, sir, if you don't mind my askin' ? » Bilbo thought a moment before answering.

« Yes… Just… nothing, » he trailed off. Bell was a good woman, a good friend of his, and he'd trust her with just about anything. But tales of love lost in youth and the youth he'd loved and lost were too private and too painful to be shared. He could see Bell didn't believe his dismissal, but she was truly a good friend. If he said 'nothing', she wasn't going to ask. She shrugged, and the moment passed.

« Would you look after 'em, then, while I go round up my family ? » she said lightly, already walking towards the bedroom door. 

« Surely, » he replied, and nodding, she left the room. He heard her footsteps disappearing down the hallway, and the distant sound of the front door opening and shutting. Then the house was silent, and he was alone in the room with the sleeping boys. _What goes on in your young hearts ?_ he wondered. The pain had gone out of Sam's bone-white face, and his small hand had tightened its grip on Frodo's. They were so close together that, should they wake, they would find themselves staring into one another's eyes. Bilbo had pondered their sudden friendship these past three days, and had come to one conclusion : theirs was a bond so strong, so intimate, so unfathomably _deep_ that the gods themselves must have ordained it. It was the only explanation he could think of and besides, if the gods had ordained it, there was no further need for questions. This in itself made the solution satisfactory, and so he left it at that. Frodo shifted in his sleep and coughed suddenly, just once, and then lay still. Bilbo's mind turned from philosophical musings to the possible crisis at hand, and he chewed his lip nervously. _Come on, lads ! You'll be alright ! _he thought encouragingly. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The lads were, in fact, doing fairly well, all things considered. They found that dream-wanderings were much more pleasant than waking realities, and consigned themselves to remaining dream-bound until it seemed safe to wake again. In dreams, their physical dilemmas did not affect them, and in dreams, they were free to go roaming. Their dreams seemed to be interwoven with memory, and often they would point things out to one another. They were still walking through a wooded area, but it was not anyplace Sam had ever been. 

« Where're we now ? » he asked, looking up at Frodo. Frodo had been looking around, trying to figure that out for himself. 

« I don't know, » he admitted. « Seems familiar, though… » Sam stood beside him patiently, waiting for him to get his bearings. Frodo took rather longer than the child had anticipated, and he began to swing their clasped hand back and forth, signaling his boredom. « Give me a minute, » Frodo said, mildly irritated. Sam let go of his hand and sat down with a sigh, crossing his legs and propping his chin on his hand. He looked so resigned, Frodo burst out laughing. 

« It hasn't been _that_ long, » he teased. Sam looked up at him, unamused.

« No. It's been longer, » he retorted, and Frodo laughed again. 

« And you're supposed to be so patient, » he said, not bothering to hide his grin. 

« Well, how long am I s'posed to be patient for ? » Sam asked, frowning.

« Not much longer, » Frodo assured him. « Just another moment I'm almost certain I recognize this place. » Sam watched him interestedly and sure enough, a few moments later, light dawned in Frodo's eyes. « I know ! » he exclaimed. « We're in Tuckborough ! »

« We are ? » Now Sam looked very interested. He had never been more than ten miles from his home at any given time in his short life, and though this was a dream, a memory, and not an actual experience, it was opening a window on the world that Sam had been curious about for as long as he could remember.

« Yes ! » said Frodo excitedly, pleased with himself for remembering. « Yes, this is Tuckborough. I didn't recognize it because I've only been to _this_ part once before. » His smile faded suddenly, and the light in his eyes died.

« Frodo ? » Sam asked, laying a small hand on Frodo's arm. Frodo stared off into the space in front of him, unseeing, and Sam waited a moment before tugging Frodo's arm and making him sit down. Once seated, the boy climbed into his lap and put his arms around him. Frodo hugged back absently, still lost in memories. 

« Did they bring you here ? » Sam asked quietly, breaking the silence but not looking up. Frodo shook his head slowly.

« No… » he said. « I – when I was fourteen, I – I ran away. » He hesitated. It was not a memory he was particularly proud of. « We'd come here to Tuckborough to visit all the relatives. We came with Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmy, and the baby they'd just had. We'd been here about two weeks, and we – my … father and I, we – quarrelled. It was an out-and-out fight, actually, » Frodo admitted, smiling unhappily.

« What about ? » Sam asked, and now he looked up, his green gaze curious, but respectfully distant, showing Frodo that, should he choose not to answer, no answer was expected. _You understand me so well,_ he thought, and squeezed the child briefly. Then he returned to the question.

« Something foolish, incredibly stupid, » he said. « Trivial, meaningless. Things happened, we 'had words', you might say. Pretty harsh ones, too. I got upset about it, started swearing, he told me to shut my mouth and I told him to make me, so he did. He hit me. » He glanced down, but Sam did not look shocked, merely anxious, and rather sad. A small, soft hand touched his cheek, and dark green eyes regarded him worriedly, as though the bruise were still visible.

« Do you hate him for it ? » the boy asked softly, carefully. 

« I did then, » Frodo said, just as softly, and his blue eyes were filled with sorrow and regret. Sam sat up a little straighter and kissed Frodo on the cheek, moving his arms and placing them round Frodo's neck.

« He didn't mean it. » The sighing whisper slipped into Frodo's ear as the child embraced him. « He didn't mean it. » Frodo's chin began to tremble, and the now-familiar sensation of tears rising in his throat overtook him. He tightened his arms around Sam and buried his face in the boy's shoulder. _Calm down,_ he ordered himself. _You're going to frighten the wits out of him._ Small fingers combed through his dark hair and small hands massaged his back, rigid with the sobs he was trying to suppress. Four words, whispered almost inaudibly four words breathed into his ear four words, spoken by this child he still hardly knew, and yet, in a way, had always known four words that had broken all defenses and reduced him to tears again. He choked on those tears, trying to swallow them, and failing mercifully as Sam whispered to him again, « He didn't mean it. » 

It was good to weep now, and his tears were like balm to his wounded soul. There was a great burden of regret on his young shoulders that he had been carrying since the night they died. _I never thanked her for all she did I never told him I loved him I never said I was sorry I never said goodbye –_ these had plagued him relentlessly, eating at him like an acid, like a cancer. They spilled out now in words and tears, choked out against Sam's small shoulder. 

« I t-told him I – I… » He had not the strength to say it. 

« Told him what ? » Sam asked gently. 

« I hated him_,_ » Frodo whispered, and his pain shook him in a storm of deep, gut-wrenching sobs. Two months was not long enough, it was not far enough away from the Accident for Frodo to think of his parents objectively. The pain was still too raw and too real to be dealt with abstractly, and though he had thought himself empty of tears, yet he found another floodgate to be opened, as it was opened by the soft words of the child.

Sam was standing now, while Frodo sat, combing his fingers through Frodo's hair and rubbing his shaking shoulders while his own shoulder grew damp with Frodo's tears. He felt in Frodo a depth of sorrow more profound than any he had known in his short life, and was dismayed. _How do I comfort you ?_ he asked, though Frodo didn't hear him. So Sam stood, and stroked him, and held him, and murmured little nothings to quiet him, drawing on all his own experience of methods of reassurement. 

« Shhhhhh, » he whispered into Frodo's hair. « Shhhhhh… it's alright, it's alright… hush, now calm down, Frodo … oh, Frodo… shhhhhhh… » 

At last, when his great emotional purge was over, Frodo sniffed and coughed wetly, his nose and throat full of the mucus that tears induce. Once again, he had attained the sick, hollow feeling that comes from weeping long, and the strange lightening of the spirit that comes from cleansing tears. He wasn't sure if he felt better or worse. Worse physically, he decided his head was aching and heavy with spent tears. But better in other respects. The guilt that had been gnawing at him was gone, washed away in the salt floods of his weeping. 

His arms ached from holding Sam for so long, so he let them drop and let go of the boy, dragging his sleeve across his face in an attempt to dry his tears. 

« Don't suppose you have a handkerchief ? » he asked with a weak laugh, his voice still high and unsteady. Sam smiled and shook his head, and Frodo sniffed again, his own lips faltering when he tried to smile back. He cleared his throat loudly and looked down at the ground beside him. « Thought not, » he said, and cleared his throat more forcefully, trying to cover his embarrassment at the rise and fall of his voice. He looked up again when Sam sat down in his lap. _Close your eyes,_ the boy instructed, so he did, and a moment later felt the soft fabric of Sam's tunic sleeve rubbing his tears away. The child spent some minutes at the task before he was finished and Frodo was allowed to open his eyes again. 

« I must have been in quite a state, » Frodo said, only half-joking. Sam smiled again and patted his cheek.

« Just a state, » he replied. « 'Quite a state' would be messier. » Frodo laughed shakily at this statement and then gave a great, shuddering sigh. It seemed to Sam that all the air in Frodo's lungs was expelled in that sigh a sigh that expressed volumes with its sheer force. The tension went out of Frodo, and they sat quiet for a while. Frodo bent his head and buried his face in Sam's soft, golden hair, closing his eyes to the dream-world a moment and inhaling deeply the scent of rosemary, which the soap they used was made with. He breathed out again, his heartbeat steadied and his upset calmed.

« Know something ? » he said, resting his chin on the top of Sam's head. 

« What's that ? » Sam asked.

« I'm _dreadfully_ tired of crying, » Frodo said heavily. « It seems all I've done since they died was cry, or feel like crying, or try not to cry, or hurt so much I just _had_ to cry. And I'm tired of it. It's become very boring, being miserable. » He frowned at the trees that surrounded them, brooding. Sam shifted and sat back a little to look Frodo in the eyes.

« Who said you had to be ? » he asked. Frodo gave him a confused look.

« Nobody. I just was. Am, » he amended.

« But you said you're tired of it. Bored with bein' miserable, » Sam repeated. Frodo shrugged.

« Well, I am. So ? » he asked.

« So who said you had t'be miserable ? » Sam asked. « If you don't like bein' miserable, stop bein' miserable. Nobody's makin' you keep on but you. » The logic of this statement gave Frodo pause. 

« It can't be that easy, » he said slowly.

« Why not ? » Sam asked.

« Because – because… » Frodo trailed off.

« Sounded like you didn't like it, » Sam said, and Frodo nodded. « Well, then, stop doing it. » His tone was level, with just a hint of authority, and perfectly rational. _Don't like it, don't do it_ – it was an intriguing thought. It had never occurred to Frodo that he might simply refuse to give himself grief about it. _I can try, anyway,_ he thought. He looked bemused.

« Tell me about – tell me why ? » Sam asked suddenly. It took Frodo a second to catch up with him. 

« Tell you – oh. Well, like I said before, we had a fight, he hit me. » Frodo paused. _Why not give him the whole story, after all ?_ « The baby – Meriadoc ridiculous name for someone so small. We all just call him Merry. But the baby, being the first son, was naturally quite a sensation, and when we came to Tuckborough there were nine million toasts to the 'Future Master of Buckland' and talks of marriage to strengthen the familial ties – marriage ! and Merry was barely two months old ! Poor kid, they'd planned his whole life for him. » Frodo shook his head, and continued.

« Anyway, it was all 'the baby' this, and 'your son' that, and personally, I failed to see the appeal of him. All the women cooed over him, it was repulsive and the men made absolute fools of themselves. You'd think they were looking at some child of kings, not a spitting little squaller who continually messed himself. And my _parents_ – they acted like he was some sort of miracle sent by the Valar them and my aunt and uncle. They always wanted to hold him and touch him, and Dad and Uncle Saradoc would have long talks about his future and Mother and Aunt Esmy would compare Merry's baby problems to the ones I'd had, and in general, they ignored me. » Frodo frowned. « I don't like being ignored, » he muttered. 

« Or at least, they ignored me till _I_ wanted to hold the baby – oh, no they couldn't have that. Father knows, I've only held dozens in my time, but I might have dropped _this_ one and then they'd be out an heir. Which, of course, would never do. And all the talk was about the child, and it seemed like there was nobody who wasn't absolutely _fascinated_ with the little wretch, and nobody had any time for anything but that baby, not even the cousins my age. » Here Frodo looked sad, and Sam sensed the loneliness that still dwelt in him the loneliness of an only child who had never had any real friends. He felt a sharp pang to imagine Frodo so overlooked, and understood the hurt he must have felt. Frodo sighed, and went on.

« So, naturally, I rather came to resent him. And that's not fair he was a good baby. He's a good boy. He didn't cry _too_ much, and he's very sweet-natured. But nobody ever let me touch him and they never shut up about him and I just – lost my temper. » He hesitated. « Threw it away, more like, » he said in a low voice. « But I couldn't help it ! » His voice rose defensively, as though Sam were arguing with him. The child in question looked up at him patiently, waiting for him to go on. 

« I just – I was wandering about, I had nothing to do. All the others were off drooling over Merry, and if they weren't with him, they were talking about him, and I'd barely seen my parents since he was born, because they just _had_ to be with him and _his_ parents. So I was sort of wandering the hallways, looking for _some_body who hadn't gone to render homage, and Dad – who'd said seven words, _seven words_ to me since we'd arrived : 'Be quiet, Frodo, you'll wake the baby' – Dad comes down the hallway towards me grinning like he'd won the Mayfair races. And d'you know what he said to me ? » Frodo looked down and Sam shook his head. 

« He said, 'Your cousin Meriadoc's just learned to hold his head up !' _That's_ what he said ! Not 'Frodo-lad, I'm glad to see you' not 'Son, d'you want to go for a walk ?'. Not even 'Frodo, is something wrong ?'. But 'Your cousin Meriadoc's just learned to hold his head up !' » Frodo's voice dripped sarcasm. « And two and a half months of being ignored only to hear _that_ – I lost my temper. I said I didn't _care_ what he'd learned to do, he was a baby, a bloody _infant _ he could drop off the edge of the world, it wouldn't make any difference. He stopped smiling and told me not to talk that way, and I said I'd talk any way I liked, it's not like he or Mum had been paying any attention they'd been too worked up over _Meriadoc_. I said it was a bloody foolish name for a baby, and Dad got angry, told me not to use 'such words', and so I said it again. 'A bloody foolish name for a bloody foolish baby' and he could _die_ for all I cared. Then Dad told me to shut my mouth, and I told him to make me. » Frodo stopped. 

« Right here, » he said, putting his right hand to his cheek and rubbing reflectively. « But it hurt more here. » He moved his hand from his cheek to his heart. « I told him I hated him. I said I wished – » he faltered. « I said I wished he would die. And then I ran. I ran and ran and ran, till I got here, and then I cried for hours and hours because I hated my father and wished he would die. I didn't want to hate him or wish those things, but he'd _hit_ me. I felt… betrayed. And I was angry with him for a long time afterwards. Even after they found me here two days later, and he held me and kissed me and said he was sorry and told me he loved me – even then, I was angry. And I was too stubborn to apologize, » he said bitterly. « Too late now. » 

Sam just looked at him. He didn't know what to say, and he wasn't going to pretend he did. Frodo sighed again and rubbed his face, his long black lashes still wet and spiky with tears. « Too late now, » he repeated softly. « And no use crying over spilt milk. » He shook his head and got to his feet, pulling Sam up with him. « Enough of true confessions, » he said. « Let's go somewhere else. » The boy smiled and took his hand, but then he choked as if the air had been knocked out of him, and his small face twisted in pain. « Sam ? » Frodo asked, alarmed. 

« Hurts, it _hurts,_ » Sam whimpered, and disappeared. Stunned, Frodo stared at the space for a long moment, feeling the warmth of Sam's hand fade from his own. And then he felt like he was being pushed, and with a searing pain in his chest, he awakened.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo's face no longer looked peaceful, Bilbo noticed as he watched them. Frodo was sweating so heavily it took Bilbo a moment to realize tears were sliding down his face. « Cousin ? » he said aloud, though of course Frodo didn't answer. He was making soft whimpering noises and his breathing sounded thick. His level black brows drew together in a grimace of pain and grief familiar to Bilbo, who had wakened him from so many nightmares. Sam's small hand tightened on Frodo's, his lips were moving, but without sound. The older boy's tears dripped onto his face until it seemed he was weeping, too. _Bell, where *are* you ?_ Bilbo thought desperately. He stroked Frodo's sweaty hair and rubbed his back and tried his level best to calm him down, but to no apparent avail. And then suddenly, it was as if Frodo had run out of tears. His face cleared and his breathing smoothed – somewhat – and Sam's grip on his hand relaxed. There was silence for a short while, and then Bilbo heard the front door opening. _Praise the Father !_ he thought, and left the boys to greet the Gamgees.

« Sorry it took so long, » Bell said breathlessly. « But th' Hill's more 'n a bit slippery and th' path's all but flooded out. »

« Fine, that's fine, » Bilbo said distractedly. 

« How are they ? » Hamfast asked quietly, his dark eyes somber.

« See for yourselves, » Bilbo said, and waved them in the general direction of the bedroom. Bell led the way and they entered cautiously, as though something terrible might spring out at them.

« Oh, _brother,_ » the children said as one. Bell made haste to place a blanket over Sam's foot – she had forgotten the wound was still exposed. The two boys, curled so close together, looked like death warmed over. Frodo looked as if he'd been dipped in the river, he was so wet. His cheeks were deeply flushed and he sounded like he was trying to breathe through water. Sam's breath came in shallow gasps, and his face was absolutely white. They looked like they were dying. The childred stood in shocked silence at the sight, until little Marigold went over to the bedside. She couldn't even see over the top of it, she was so small, but she reached her hand up to try and touch her brother.

« Sam ? » she said in a confused voice. May grabbed her up and held her close, tears forming in her eyes. « May ? » Marigold said, turning those huge, dark eyes on her sister, who looked pleadingly to Bell.

« It's not as bad as it looks, » their mother reassured them, but caught her husband's eye as she said it. A silent question was asked and answered. _Will they – ? ~ Maybe._ Hamfast suddenly looked ten years older, and his shoulders slumped like they carried a heavy burden. He liked Frodo very well, was affectionate enough with him – though always mindful of his 'station' – and would be very sorry if Frodo should die. But _Samwise –_ _oh, Father, please no. Please no. Don't take him, don't take him, he's so young, yet…_

« Samwise ? » Bell said softly, bending over him. « Sam, love, wake up. Wake up. » She shook his shoulder lightly and he came awake with a gasp, his wide eyes pained and confused. Bell felt sorry for waking him. « Your brothers an' sisters came to see thee, » she said, trying to smile. Sam blinked up at her, uncomprehending, and she gestured to where they stood. He looked at them blankly and Daisy began to cry, despite her best efforts to the contrary. She bit her lip hard, but the tears ran down her cheeks, and she turned away from that unrecognizing gaze. May glared around the room and stalked over to the bedside, sitting down. Sam was too tired to move away, so he just watched her. She took his hand in hers, trying not to gasp aloud at the heat of it, and looked him straight in his confused green eyes.

« Little brother, » she said softly. Sam blinked wearily. « Little brother, » she said again, more forcefully. He looked over to Frodo, who was struggling to sit up. May glanced at him, wincing a little for how ill he looked. Frodo's blue eyes were equally uncomprehending, and he looked at her as though he'd never seen her before, reaching for Sam warily. The boys' eyes met for a burning moment, and then suddenly, Sam turned back to her.

« May ? » he whispered hoarsely. She nodded, and felt very much like crying, but choked down her tears. 

« S'me, » she said, smiling as best she could, and Sam nodded slowly. His other siblings came over, touching him cautiously and smiling nervously at Frodo, who watched them all sharply and held Sam closer to himself, as if they would take Sam away from him. His breath quickened and he coughed, and he had to let go of Sam, coughing harder. Bilbo was at his side in an instant, helping him sit up and pounding on his back. The raw sound of his coughing filled the room and made them flinch until he came to an abrupt halt. He laid his head on Bilbo's shoulder and panted heavily, his head aching and his chest torn. _Oh, Father, let me die,_ he thought miserably. Bilbo laid him back down and he reached for Sam, wrapping his sweaty arms around him. Sam's thoughts were all blue confusion and blood-black pain, with weak green flashes of comfort when his siblings kissed him and his father stroked his hair. 

Frodo closed his eyes to the room and tried hard to recapture the safety and relative painlessness of their dreams, but to no avail. Sam's family's voices were all around him, piercing his throbbing head and keeping him awake. Sam's thoughts themselves could not be still, caught in a whirl of pain and bewilderment that agitated Frodo's mind. He wanted to tell them all to go away, to leave them alone, to be _quiet_, at the very least, but Frodo was a well-mannered and self-controlled boy, and some small corner of his mind realized that they weren't _trying_ to keep him awake. They were very worried for Sam, was all. _Put up with it,_ he thought wearily, his face pressed to the curve of Sam's neck. _S'all you can do, anyway._

He began to wish he would go deaf, and then suddenly it seemed his wish was granted. All the noise stopped, and when he opened one eye carefully, they were gone. Sam was on an edge between sleep and consciousness, wavering between the two, his eyes still open and bright with exhaustion. In the sudden silence, Frodo felt sleep returning. _Come on,_ he said to the child, taking Sam's hand in his again. Sam came willingly, his eyes closing, and soon they left their pain behind to wander in dreams again.

Bell and Bilbo returned to the room and looked at eachother for a moment.

« Well, » Bilbo said expectantly.

« Well, » Bell replied. There was another pause, and then she turned to the fireplace and picked up the poker. « It'll need to be hot, » she said.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: *winces* Any good? I haven't been able to write in so long… Please tell me if it's alright…


	25. Burn

****

Author Notes : I have to write these really fast – shirebound, Trilliah, Amanda, tiggivon, Elvish (yeah, I know that's you, 'cause you're signing your reviews 'AC' ^_^), MichelleFrodo, and my darling Butterfly (I'm a chronic sufferer of F.C.A.S., tis true) - I love you all ! ! And I really really want to reply to your comments, but I have no time. One thing, though – Trills, stop poking me ! He'll be alright ! *grins* Okay, read on, peeps. And this is *not* the end of the story the previous idea of 25 chapters be damned. I need to keep writing. ^_^

The rain fell relentlessly outside, pattering against the window of Frodo's bedroom. Now that Sam was taken care of – at least for the time being – they turned their attention to Frodo. 

« What he needs, » Bell said thoughtfully, « is to cough up that muck in his chest. »

« Why ? » asked Bilbo, who was of the opinion that no muck was a good thing.

« Because that's where the infection is, » Bell told him. « An' if he can cough it up, he'll get better. An' if he can't, it'll only get worse. » Bilbo grimaced.

« Well, how can you make him cough it up, then ? » he asked. Bell chewed her lower lip and stared off into space.

« I'm thinkin' extraction of bluebells, » she said slowly. « If we can wake 'im up to make him drink. If not, then a hot poultice should loosen things. » 

« And in the meantime ? » Bilbo raised his dark brows. 

« In th' meantime, we need to get him out of those clothes, » Bell said. « They're absolutely soaked. »

« Certainly, provided we can separate him from your son, » Bilbo said dryly. « _Without_ waking either of them up. » Bell sighed.

« No guarantees, sir, » she said, looking at how closely the boys were entwined. 

« We can but try, » Bilbo assured her, laying a hand on her arm. She smiled worriedly and looked back at the boys.

« Well, then. We'd best set about tryin', » she murmured, bending over Frodo. « Come on, lad, » she said softly, taking his arms from around Sam. Frodo jerked away and muttered something in his sleep, reaching for Sam again. Bell quickly slipped an arm around his shoulders and sat him up, and Frodo came to reluctant consciousness, coughing a little and glaring sleepily up at Bell.

« What _now ?_ » he whispered hoarsely and with more than a hint of irritation. Had he been less miserable, he might have pushed her away, but as it was he was too tired and too sick to do anything other than lay there. He sensed Sam awakening also, and was doubly angry with Bell. _Sleep, little one, just go to sleep,_ he soothed. Too late, Sam was awake he could feel it. « You woke him up, » he told her accusingly. Bell looked to her son, whose long lashes fluttered and parted. Dark green eyes looked up at her with weary patience and a desperate longing to go back to sleep.

« Sorry, lads, » she said apologetically. « I didn't mean to wake thee. »

« What now ? » Frodo asked again, swallowing painfully and wishing to heaven that she _hadn't_ wakened them.

« Your clothes, » Bell informed him, « are drenched. An' you need to be changed out of them. »

« Right now ? » he said tiredly.

« Right now, » Bell confirmed with a nod. « So hold still. » Frodo didn't understand till she had untied his sash and began to pull his tunic off. _She's undressing me. She's *undressing* me !_ By the time realization had struck home, his tunic was off and she had her hands on his waist to pull his breeches down. Frodo sat straight up, and fought against the waves of dizziness that washed over him when he did so. He put his hands on Bell's and took them off his waist.

« I can do it, Mistress, » he said tersely. Bell crossed her arms over her chest.

« Really ? Let's see you do it, then, » she said just as tersely. Frodo was sick, possibly very sick, and Samwise was already suffering from dangerous complications. Besides that, she had the rest of her family to worry about, and Master Bilbo as well, and Bell was in no mood to put up with Frodo's self-consciousness. Under the heavy flush on his cheeks, she could see the red darkening with a blush. Frodo glared up at her, humiliated and defiant.

« No, » he said. « Turn around. » Bell quirked an eyebrow and complied. Frodo was too dizzy to sit up on his own, and fell back against his damp pillows. He fumbled with the waistband of his breeches, but the muscles in his arms were shaky and balked at the effort of pushing his breeches down. Even with the slight exertion, Frodo was already breathing hard. Bell let him struggle a few more moments before pulling them off herself in a few short tugs. Frodo pressed a hand to his eyes and thought that the world must surely swallow him up that _instant_, because he was quite literally _dying_ of embarrassment. Bell then humiliated him further by putting his clean breeches on him. He sat up again and jerked roughly at them, putting them on _himself,_ and glaring at Bell the whole time. His blue eyes were fever bright and perfectly furious.

« I can _do_ it, » he spat between clenched teeth, holding her amused brown gaze. Success, and he grabbed the tunic she held and yanked it over his head in a sharp, vicious movement that showed just how angry he was. Forcing his arms through the sleeves, he took the sash in her hand and tied it tight around his narrow waist, pulling tight on the knot to prove that he could _do_ it. Frodo had a rather hot temper, and never in his life had he been so perfectly humiliated. He glared at Bell a moment longer and felt himself on the ragged edge of tears. 

« Leave me _alone,_ » he ordered her, choking on the last word and coughing. He coughed for a few minutes before he stopped and fell back against the pillows again. He was unbelievably miserable he'd never thought anyone could be so miserable and still live. _See what you did !_ he wanted to tell her, but he was so tired, just _so_ tired…

« You wait here, » Bell replied, and went over to the fireplace. _Where else would I go ?_ Frodo wondered sarcastically. Bell took Frodo's mug and a small cloth packet from the basket. Opening the packet, she tipped some of its dry, powdery contents into the mug. Then she took the kettle from where it hung over the fire and poured hot water into the mug. She swirled it a little to stir it and came back to Frodo's side. « Drink this, » she commanded, handing him the mug. Frodo sat up straighter and sipped at the hot fluid, wrinkling his nose at its slightly bitter taste. He swallowed again, wincing for the pain in his throat. 

He had nearly finished off the mug when he felt a rumble go through his chest. His breathing caught, and he coughed, and he kept on coughing, and this time, the cough didn't go away after a few moments. He coughed until his fingertips started to turn blue and he was swallowing great gulping gasps of air between coughs, which only seemed to aggravate the problem. Bilbo was beside him, holding him and pounding his back, trying to release whatever was caught in Frodo's throat. Bell held the basin in front of him, ready for whatever he choked up. But nothing came and nothing came and Bilbo looked alarmedly at Bell.

« In a moment, » she said confidently, and sure enough, just when it seemed Frodo was about to choke to death, he spat up something sticky and dark, streaked with red. He coughed again and spat up more, and again, and again. His chest felt like large pieces were being torn from it, and he when he finished, he began to cry, his breath still coming in huge, shuddering gasps. _It hurts, it *hurts*,_ he wept silently, and Bilbo comforted him while Bell wiped his mouth with a soft, damp cloth. He felt a small, burning hand laid on his back, and pulling away from Bilbo, he reached for Sam, who was too exhausted to sit up. Frodo _needed_ to sit up, it was the only way he could breathe, and Bilbo adjusted the pillows accordingly so that he could sit up against them. 

Frodo pulled the weary child into his arms and Sam laid his head on Frodo's heaving chest, closing his eyes again. _It's alright, it's alright,_ he soothed, but his thoughts were weak and fractured. Frodo calmed himself with an effort, running his fingers distractedly through Sam's soft hair. It quieted him to feel that silky hair between his fingers, lightly twisting the nearly-straight locks around them and feeling the shape of Sam's head. The tears slowed and he didn't hurt so much and they started to fall asleep again.

Bell was tremendously relieved that the bluebells had worked. _If they're coughing up, it's good,_ her cousin had told her. _If they're not, make 'em. It's only coughing up as loosens the infection in their lungs._ She was thankful that Frodo, no matter how much it hurt, had responded to the expectorant and brought up more dark gold mucus. But she was nervous that it might not stay that way. _These next two days, I'll have to watch him careful,_ she thought. The next two days would be critical – either Frodo's fever would break and he would get well, or it would remain, and he would develop pneumonia and die. Bell refused to think of such things, and shook her head to clear it of those thoughts.

« Bell ? » Bilbo said softly. She looked to where he sat on the edge of the bed next to Sam and Frodo and raised her brows questioningly. « The poker's ready, » he informed her. Bell felt as if the floor had dropped out beneath her and her stomach clenched. She turned around slowly and saw the poker glowing white-hot in the fire. Her glance flicked back to her son, curled up in Frodo's arms with his golden head on Frodo's chest, his sleeping features pale and troubled. _I can't do this,_ she thought with a sick sense of apprehension. _I can't. I cannot burn my own son I can't do it. Oh, Father ! Help me !_

Bilbo stood and pulled the covers off the boys, exposing Sam's small foot and the blood that smeared it. Bell suddenly felt as though she would faint, and this sudden weakness steeled her resolve. Her head cleared and her thoughts were sure and confident. She knew what she had to do, and she wasn't flinching from it. _Do or die,_ she realized. _He'll die. And I can't let that happen. Not ever. Not to him. _

« Bandages, » she said, and took them from the basket to have at the ready. _An' cold water._ « Sir, if you'd fill a bowl with water… » Bilbo nodded and left the room, returning a short while later holding a basin filled with cold water from the bathroom. He handed it to her silently and she set it in the armchair by the fire. 

Pulling her son's leg straight and holding his small foot as firmly as she dared, given that he had a broken ankle, Bell gestured Bilbo to come over and hold him down. Bilbo came and gently but firmly laid his hands on Sam's shoulders. _To keep him from flying through the ceiling when he feels this,_ he thought grimly.

« Well, » she said heavily. They looked at eachother, and Bell reached for the poker. « Here goes. » She pressed the white-hot end to the bloody gash on Sam's foot and her heart leapt to her throat when she felt Sam go rigid. Bilbo had to hold him much harder than he'd expected as Sam jerked forward with surprising strength. His pupils expanded and his dark green eyes went black before rolling backward. Sam fainted dead away and went limp in Bilbo's arms, and the acrid scent of burning flesh filled the room. Frodo had not awakened, and both Bell and Bilbo offered their fervent thanks Westward. 

Bell removed the poker and laid it on the stone fireplace. She then took up the bowl of cold water and bathed her son's seared wound in it. The water hissed when it touched the heated wound, and she swallowed against the bile in her throat. When Sam's wound seemed sufficiently cool – though still very hot to the touch – she gently patted it dry and wrapped clean, dry bandages loosely around it, tying them carefully, but not tightly. _Burns need to breathe,_ her cousin had told her. _Else they get infected, and then your patient's as good as gone. Keep them clean keep them dry. And let them breathe._ She finished and put the things away before carrying the fireplace chair over to the bedside to be next to her son. She stroked his hair softly, touching Frodo's hand that was still laid on Sam's head. She ran her finger gently down his cheek and bit her lip anxiously to feel the tears that coursed down it from behind his long black lashes. Looking up, her eyes met Bilbo's and his worry matched her own. Slowly, she raised her hand, crossing two fingers for luck. Bilbo raised his own crossed fingers in answer and they smiled weakly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam shrieked and he seemed to flicker for a moment between dreaming and waking. 

« Sam ! » Frodo was alarmed and tightened his grip on Sam's hand to secure him. Sam solidified again and burst into tears. « Are you alright ? » Frodo asked. Sam shook his head violently. No.

« Th-they – they – my – _hurts_, Frodo, h-hurts… » he sobbed incoherently, his pretty face twisted in pain. 

« Shhhh, shhhh, » he murmured, though his thoughts were panicked. _What did they *do* ? And why didn't I feel it ?_ he wondered. He didn't dare open his thoughts to it now, afraid of the pain that slammed through Sam's small body and brought the child to his knees.

« Oh – oh – _ah !_ » he screamed, bent double with his head touching the ground. Frodo knelt beside him and pulled him onto his lap, his own hands shaking as he stroked Sam's back, trying to calm him. « _Ohhhh…_ » A long, low wail, dull with agony that tore at Frodo's heart. Sam coughed on his tears and he shivered with sobs, his small hands clutching desperately at Frodo's tunic. « H-hurts, it hurts, » he said over and over. 

« Shhhh, baby, I know, I know, » Frodo whispered, rocking him back and forth. « Calm down, now, Samwise just calm down… » But Sam would _not_ calm, not for quite a while, and there was nothing Frodo could do but rock him and rub his back. Finally, he seemed to come to a halt, and he hiccuped and sniffed wetly. Frodo stood carefully and carried him a ways, sitting down with his back to a tree, which was more comfortable. For another 'quite a while' they sat there, Frodo running his fingers through Sam's hair as Sam's shaky breathing evened out. 

« It's alright, little one ? » Frodo said, or rather, asked, when Sam had calmed down. The boy nodded slowly, and Frodo stood up again, still holding him. He looked down into Sam's face and could have wept himself. The little boy's skin was so white, it was almost translucent, and shining trails of not-quite-dry tears marked his face. His lashes were still wet and spiky with tears, and his small chin trembled. Frodo gently kissed his forehead, and then his closed eyes, and then his tearstained cheeks. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at him with a faltering smile. _He looks for all the world like a child that's been beaten,_ Frodo thought sorrowfully, returning the smile softly and kissing Sam's forehead again. 

« Can you walk ? Or should I carry you ? » he asked.

« I can walk, » Sam assured him, though the tremble in his voice belied the conviction of his words. Frodo put him down reluctantly and knelt beside him.

« You're sure ? » he said uncertainly. Sam sniffed and rubbed his face with the back of his sleeve before nodding.

« Yeah, » he said, and smiled at Frodo again. This smile was much brighter and the pain was gone from his eyes. He still looked terrible, but color was returning to his cheeks. Frodo smiled back and hugged him tightly. He let go and sat back on his heels, looking at Sam, who looked back, smiling a little.

« You know something ? » Frodo asked. Sam quirked an eyebrow. « I love you. » 

« I know, » Sam replied, and smiled brilliantly at him. « I love you, too. » Frodo grinned.

« It's a good thing, » he said. « Seeing as we're best friends and all. »

« Aye, » Sam nodded. « That it is. T'would be strange if we were best friends as hated eachother. » He looked bemused and Frodo laughed.

« No such thing, Samwise, » he told him, standing up. « No such thing. Are you sure you're alright ? » he asked a final time. Sam looked him straight in the eye and Frodo was once again surprised at how much older than his years Sam behaved.

« Would I lie ? » the child asked bluntly.

« No, » Frodo admitted. « Well, then. »  
« Well, then, » Sam repeated, and tugged on Frodo's hand. « Let's go somewhere else. »

« Let's, » Frodo agreed, and they walked off, hand in hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: ^_^ You're welcome. I'll update soon! 


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